Infidelity
by Metamotivation
Summary: "Every act of infidelity starts with doubt. Then comes temptation." Kyle's faith is put to the test when he starts to waver from the promises he's made. He soon finds himself on a dark path that may lead to the very seat of damnation.
1. Part I: Doubt

(Drama/Supernatural/Psycho-sexual)

_Rated M for ideologically sensitive material, language, explicit sexual material, and disturbing imagery._

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><p>Infidelity, Part I: Doubt<p>

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><p><em>Fade in from black.<em>

_An empty white stool sits in the corner of a room, underneath a window. The sky is grey outside. Cut to the same shot of the empty white stool, only with a young man sitting in it, tapping his foot, his hands laced together in between his knees. His face is cut off._

_Fade out to black._

* * *

><p>So let me tell you something, something I'm sure I've never told anyone. Every act of infidelity starts with doubt. How do I know that? I doubted him. And from doubt came poisonous thoughts. Lust, wrath, and greed—I was overwhelmed with these foreign sensations. It felt like an invasion, as if these black desires weren't entirely mine.<p>

Then I discovered that this weakness, this doubt, let all the poison in. I had to wonder if other people went along the warpath of divorce, adultery, and infidelity starting with that little stepping stone.

* * *

><p>It started three years ago, the summer when we were both eighteen.<p>

I remember him standing in front of me in the silence of my room. Everyone had been out that day attending an awards ceremony at Ike's school. Eric took the opportunity to spend time with me, but once I shut the door, he clammed up.

I didn't speak either. I took a step away from my door, but that was it. I met his gaze, but I didn't say anything. We both knew what he wanted to say. So I just waited, like a complete idiot, because the alternative was for me to admit that I felt the same. For some reason—pride, probably—I really didn't want to be the first to say it. For all my academic awards, I was one stupid kid back then.

Before that day, I noticed the changes in Eric's attitude toward me. While he wasn't necessarily nicer, he was more protective, wouldn't allow anyone else to insult or hurt me. In the absence of the public eye, when it was just the two of us together, he would always lean against me subtly, and I didn't bother to say anything about it. The possible implications behind his actions worried me too much. So I just let it happen.

Before I knew it, I found myself wanting him, in a completely screwed up way. I _knew_ somehow that he depended on me, ever since the day we resolved our never-ending antagonism.

So, I knew he needed me. I knew he wanted to be loved, that he needed a friend, but his entire childhood fucked that up for him. I felt his need in the way he sought me out, whether to pick a fight with me, or to teach me simple things like how to make soup. Yeah. I learned that from him. He taught me that one simple, stupid thing and it made me feel all sorts of warm and fuzzy.

I knew he needed me, and I _liked_ being needed.

That was how it started, at least from my end. I don't actually know how long Eric's been in love with me. I never wanted to ask, probably because I just didn't want to know the answer. Thinking about it made me uncomfortable.

My feelings started with his need for me. At first, I liked knowing that I was important to him, that if he lost me, he would lose the one person who knew him best. Then I noticed the way he looked at me, how he would use any excuse to touch me, get close to me. Eric stared at my lips, flicked my nose, pinched my cheeks, and squeezed me around my waist with his hammy fingers. No one else noticed it, but I could tell when his cheeks would get oh so slightly pink when he touched me, when I touched him, or when he caught a whiff of my cologne.

I don't think he realized he was attracted to me. His advances were almost too forward. He didn't seem to realize how much could change if his feelings _were_ more than platonic. But I definitely didn't help the matter.

After observing him and deducing a pattern, I would occasionally do the same things to him at random. Pinch his cheeks, pat his belly (he always hated that one—still does), flick his nose, and stare at his lips. I made sure he noticed. I would be rewarded with that subtle blush, and the usual, "Fucking Jew. You're so queer." He always stuttered it out, emphasizing the "fuck," as if it would help save face.

I did it to screw with him. At first, anyway. I liked teasing him. I liked seeing him blush and squirm and spit racist slurs at my face. I liked it because I knew I had the upper hand, and I certainly wasn't above using it against Eric.

My whole attitude changed, which I should have expected. It happened on one obscure day when we were hanging out at a diner. Sitting across from me at a small round table, Eric said something about me being the only one in "this hick town" he would actually consider coming back to after leaving it all behind.

I had to dick around with that one. So I said: "Cute. But thing is, I'd leave _with_ you, and we can start a life together somewhere else, you know, two-point-five kids, white picket fence and everything."

I was surprised when I looked up at him and saw the genuine sincerity on his face. I completely missed his expression as he practically confessed his feelings for me. So after I made that completely inappropriate joke, Eric spent half a second believing me, and the moment after that all hell broke loose.

He must have realized that I was joking, realized that I saw him believe me, and his pride committed seppuku before my eyes.

Eric's face turned red with anger and hurt, and he slammed his fists down on the table as he shot out of his seat. He hissed horrible and vile words at my face, none of which I want to remember. He stormed angrily out of the diner, leaving me gaping and feeling like a monumental douche.

In that moment I realized that I didn't just like teasing him. I cared about _him_.

Like a rocket, I shot out of my chair, chucking a twenty at a nearby waiter. I ran out of there as fast as my basketball trained legs could carry me. I shot down the street like a freight train, spotting Eric's brown leather jacket two blocks away.

I caught up with him. Putting my hand on his shoulder, I spun him around, huffing and hastily trying to form an apology in my head. "Shit … dude. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that." I really could have done better.

Eric sneered down at me, but I could see past all the anger. The hurt was there, and he wasn't about to show me. So I layered it on really thick, but I found myself meaning every flowery fucking word.

"I'm sorry, Cartman. Please … just don't walk away. I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I won't make a joke like that again, dude. I … care about how you feel. So, believe me when I say that right now, I feel like the lowest piece of trash on the planet for hurting your feelings. I'm—shit. God, Cartman, I'm sorry, I am. Please believe me, because I don't want us to start fighting about something I said. That was really stupid and insincere, and you have every right to be pissed off at me. But … please forgive me."

I was instantly horrified by how whipped I sounded. Eric was, too, judging by how white his face had gone. I could recall thinking: "By God, if this doesn't get me in his good graces, then I don't care if I have to serenade him, get him fucking roses, or if I have to buy him a goddamn ring."

There was a chilling moment of silence, in which I'm sure my face had gone an ugly shade of red. Eric just stared at me, looking completely weirded out by the situation.

He snorted, brushing my hand off his shoulder. "Whatever, Jew. Let's just get out of here."

He'd forgiven me, but not entirely. We spent the afternoon playing Xbox at his place. While Eric completely kicked my ass in Tekken, I was busy thinking up ways to make it up to him. I honestly felt _that_ shitty about what I said.

So the very next day, I showed up at his doorstep, my face on fire as I held a small bouquet of royal violet heliotrope. I regretted the entire thing the moment Eric opened the door and stared at me like I'd gone insane. I was sick to my stomach. The only thing that prevented me from blowing chunks was the nagging thought that Stan would never let me live it down.

I shoved the small bouquet in his hands, mumbling something about us being "even," and tried not to die of embarrassment as Eric invited me in with a smug grin on his face. I immediately stomped over to the kitchen and started pulling out random ingredients, refusing to look at Eric as he stood in the doorway, watching me. I really felt like having chicken noodle soup to calm my frazzled nerves.

Fifteen minutes later, as I was ladling my finished soup into a porcelain bowl, I caught sight of Eric in the reflection of the kitchen window, clasping the bouquet of heliotrope. He had the biggest, goofiest grin on his face. Suddenly, I didn't feel embarrassed. More like accomplished—in the way a guy feels accomplished after the girl of his dreams agrees to marry him.

And there's my dirty little secret: I'm the biggest romantic you'll ever meet. Like a default setting, whenever I'm infatuated or, well, in love, I get this impulse to make that special person feel like they're the most beautiful, most amazing human being in the world. I don't know where I get it from, but there you go.

From that day on, I somehow decided that I couldn't sit on my ass when I was fully aware of how we both felt. Monday I took Eric out to lunch, my treat. Tuesday, I made him dinner (I practiced the entire weekend, just to get that lemon chicken recipe right). Wednesday was spent at the movies. Thursday had me buying him Belgian chocolates. Friday, I spent the entire day in his company, going to every possible length to make him laugh, tease him, and be close to him. The following weeks reflected a similar pattern.

I was surprised when Eric didn't lord it over me, the fact that he had me completely at his beck and call. It wasn't that I adored him—well … I _do_, which is kind of screwed up. I just liked making him feel special and loved. I liked knowing that I was the only one in the world who could bring that rise of color in his cheeks.

I noticed that once I showed Eric genuine, unconditional affection, he toned down the asshole act. Whenever I made those conscious efforts to make him happy, Eric just sort of accepted it, like it was his due, smirking with a smug expression on his face, which would always result in me feeling like the sappiest goofball on the planet. But when he didn't see me looking, his expression would soften, and then I'd know I did good.

After spending an entire day with him, I realized the following night that I had a serious problem. It was completely retarded how it never occurred to me before, but given how occupied I was with Eric, I cut myself some slack. I remember asking myself: "Dude, Kyle, are you _gay_?"

Even now, I'm still not certain. But back then, I thought really long and hard about it. At one desperate point that night, I conjured up an image of Stan, since the girls were always going on about how hot he was. I honestly made a conscious, almost frantic effort to get turned on by him. Abs, toned biceps, smooth pale skin—I wanted to jump out a window. For fuck's sake, it was _Stan_.

I immediately felt uncomfortable and dirty, the farthest thing from turned on. I made a mental note to apologize to my super best friend cum brother.

I pondered for a few hours if I was gay. Was I attracted to other guys? No, not really. Throughout my life, my preference had mainly been cute, smart, shy girls, ones that were always dainty and did pretty things that made me sigh and grin. So that was out of the question. But I was definitely interested in Eric. Probably because he needed me, and I liked feeling needed, and when I put it that way, I know it doesn't sound too good. But, just trust me on this: what I feel for him is more than that.

For a few moments, I sat in my desk chair, rolling a basketball in between my palms. I let my thoughts settle, trying to find some sort of objective standpoint. Eric knew me best, even better than Stan I have to admit. He could be witty, despite how retarded he is. He was vulnerable, I realized. It wasn't obvious, but the way he always acted high and mighty, insulting anyone or anything that stood in his way—it made me think. I didn't ever want to hurt him. I wanted to show him that he didn't have to block out everyone.

But was that really attraction? Attraction was the bottom line. If he turned me on, that would seal the deal for me. And nothing would stand in my way if I wanted him.

That night would forever be imprinted in my memory.

I put down my basketball, ignoring it as it rolled across the carpet. I sat in my desk chair, contemplating the possible consequences of what I was about to do. After five minutes, I must have muttered "Screw it," and got up to walk over to my bed.

I glanced twice at my door to see if it was locked.

I settled myself on top of my covers. Memories of the afternoon before flooded my head, accompanied by a warm sensation that washed over me.

Eric's house. We both sat close together on the couch, playing Xbox, swearing and laughing like idiots. My elbow kept bumping into his arm, and neither of us complained. An hour later, Eric popped in a movie, and we proceeded to watch some shitty action flick with unintelligent dialogue. My arm was draped over Eric's thigh. His arm rested on the back of the couch, almost across my shoulders. His warmth was really distracting.

I felt my face heat up as I curled onto my side.

I thought of his hazel eyes, how they would get heavy lidded and dark when he thought I didn't notice him watching me. Eric's broad shoulders, his husky laugh, and his round figure—I thought of Eric's cinnamon-paprika scent, and caught myself wondering if he would taste like cinnamon. Sweet and spicy.

I shivered, feeling sensations of warmth pooling across my body. My hands started to wander.

God, his hair, where his cinnamon scent was most concentrated—I wanted to touch it. It looked shiny and soft. I thought of other places where he would have soft, smooth brown hair.

A delirious moan escaped my lips. My thoughts were getting cloudy and humid. I closed my eyes.

"_God, Kyle. Fuck you—fuck you for making me feel this good."_

I nearly lost it. I proved my point. I wanted him. I didn't stop. I kept going at it, stroking myself inside the confines of my sweatpants. Moisture was beading on my forehead, upper lip, and on my chest.

For an hour, I lay on my bed, hot and sweaty, face rosy as I let my thoughts run wild. It was completely out of my control, subconsciously involuntary. Visions of Eric had my fingers delving into a place I'd never touched before. The sensation combined with my sinful imaginings was enough to drive me over the edge.

After riding out the most powerful orgasm of my eighteen-year-old life, I caught my breath and stared up at my ceiling. For a few moments, I let my thoughts calm and evaporate into nothing as I basked in the warm, sunny afterglow of orgasm. Then I got up, cleaned myself off, and made my way to the bathroom to wash my hands.

The fact that I took it so calmly was probably a hint at some sort of subconscious crisis. But I put that niggling feeling on the backburner as I made my way to my room. The house was dark and quiet. Everybody was probably asleep.

I got back into bed after shutting my door. Pulling out my phone, I punched in Eric's number on impulse.

"Kyle, _what the fuck_?" He didn't sound happy. It must have been pretty late. "There better be a damn good reason why you're calling at one in the fucking morning."

Instead of blurting out something blasé, like "As if you're ever asleep early enough, fat ass," I let Eric's voice ring in my ears for a few more moments before saying: "I just wanted to hear your voice."

There was a moment of silence. I was pretty sure Eric's face took on five different shades of red in that moment. Then he spluttered into the phone, "W-What the hell, Kyle?"

His voice was uneven. He was embarrassed and probably really tense. I kept plowing on anyway, images of my recent fantasy flooding my head. I cleared my throat before asking him, "Do you think we can hang out tomorrow?"

Instead of giving me a clear answer, Eric's tone became solemn. "Kyle, what the hell is going on? And before you pull something out of your ass, don't think for _one_ goddamn moment that I haven't noticed how weird you've been acting."

I rolled my eyes. Clearly, Eric was in denial. I remember feeling disappointed, but conceded to the fact that maybe he just wasn't ready yet. Whatever, I told myself, I could wait.

"Fine, Cartman. I have been acting weird, and maybe I'll explain to you some time. We don't have to hang out tomorrow. You can go back to—"

"Fucking hold on, Kyle."

His words came out in one breathy rush. I waited, staring up at my ceiling. He was silent for about three seconds, and then breathed a sigh into the phone.

"Are you busy tomorrow?"

I allowed myself a small smile. "Nah. My family's going to this awards thing at Ike's school, and I already told them I would stay behind."

"I'll come over."

"Cool. See you then."

The next afternoon found us in my room, with Eric standing in the middle, looking lost and desperate. I stood by the door, facing him, equally speechless for different reasons.

Like I said, I didn't want to tell him that I liked him because it would probably kill my pride. Sure, I could take him out to dinner, buy him _flowers_ for God's sake, but in the end, this was still Eric Cartman, the only person to ever challenge me. Somehow, admitting the feelings first seemed like the ultimate defeat in our rivalry cum attraction, and in every other aspect I would be willing to lose except in that.

Eric struggled with his words, not meeting my gaze. I could tell that he wanted to say something important, give me words that we both needed to hear. I knew what he wanted to say, but I just stood there, arms crossed, waiting for him to spit it out. I didn't push him.

Finally, Eric met my gaze, his hazel eyes frantic. He felt trapped.

The realization of his true fears rocked the very core of my being. He was scared. He was scared that I wouldn't return his feelings. That fear hurt him.

I suddenly felt angry.

Before I could even think of a more reasonable course of action, I stomped over to him.

I stood in front of Eric, allowing for an inch of space in between our bodies. The fear and uncertainty was still in his shaky gaze. He was probably two inches taller, but the way he looked into my eyes would have led me to believe otherwise. I hated seeing how scared he was. I knew he wanted to hurt me. His hands were balled into fists at his sides. The risk of approaching him when he felt that frustrated and angry was one I took.

I opened my mouth.

Before I could say anything, his fist connected with my jaw. I found myself knocked onto the floor, completely winded by the impact of the blow.

"_SHIT_."

I was aware of roaring that expletive, aware of the horrified look that Eric gave me.  
>He bolted, almost tripping over himself to get to my door. Adrenaline and rage pumping through my veins, I pushed off my carpet and tore after him.<p>

As he wrenched my door open, I gave it an almighty kick, watching it slam shut with a deafening crack. Eric spun around, panicked. I slammed both my palms on the door on either side of his body, trapping him.

Cold wrath and unimaginable pain roared in between my ears, and I almost started to hit him. The only thing that stopped me was the angry, desperate expression on Eric's face as he hissed in a low whisper: "Let go of me, Kyle. Don't fucking jerk me around anymore."

I let out a disbelieving breath. "Jerking you—_what_? What the hell's that supposed to mean, Cartman? Whatever gave you the impression that I playing with you?"

Eric growled at me, grasping my sweater in his fists, pulling me forward, bringing my face an inch away from his. "What—am I supposed to believe that you _actually_ have feelings for me? Well, _fuck_ you, Kyle. I won't let you fuck me over."

"I'm not going to hurt you." I sounded desperate and helpless. I hated how he wouldn't trust me. It physically hurt me—gave me a feeling of a bullet through my chest—to hear him say those words.

Scoffing, Eric pushed me away. "Fuck off, Jew. I'm done with your Jew games, and I'm done with you—"

Closing my eyes, I grabbed Eric and kissed him.

Eric froze in my arms as I gently worked my lips against his. I poured every feeling of adoration and sincerity into that kiss, hoping to God that he would understand just how wrong he was about me. I pulled back, eyes still closed, nuzzling my nose against his cheeks, and the corners of his lips. I planted a brief, lingering kiss against his mouth as I opened my eyes.

His hazel eyes met mine, and I was relieved to find him confused instead of irritated or upset.

"Kyle ..? The fuck, Jew?" His voice was barely a whisper.

"The fuck is this, Cartman: I like making you laugh, I like making you feel special, but most of all I want to show you that there are people in this world who will _never_ let you down, never hurt you, and never ever leave you."

I spoke the words like a promise, the way they were meant to be spoken. The intensity of my tone and my gaze affected Eric visibly. His eyes widened as he stared down me, pressed up against him like that. He was completely still for a moment.

"I love you, Kyle." He blurted it out like it was one word. It was clumsy and awkward, but I couldn't bring myself to care. With the desperate way he whispered it to me, his eyes wide and frenzied, I could tell that he loved me for a very long time.

I showered his face with gentle kisses as he murmured over and over again, "I love you. I love you. I love you. God, Kyle, I fucking love you." He gripped me by my hips, spun me around until I had my back to my door, and kissed me, pressing our bodies together.

That summer, the summer after our first year of post-secondary, I fell in love with him. I didn't want to say it just yet, but what the hell, right? I took my sweet time confessing meaningful I love yous to Eric one August evening as I took him rowing over at the pond. I personally hauled Kenny and Stan out of their homes to help me deck out the area with golden Christmas lights and paper lanterns. When Stan asked me who the lucky girl was, I shrugged and said, "We're lying low for now. At least, until we're sure we have a steady thing going."

Kenny just snorted, said something along the lines of, "Kyle, just get _laid_ already," and then followed up whatever comment he made with: "Whoever this girl is, she better be worth it."

* * *

><p>Our "friendship" started when we were thirteen.<p>

One day, we were arguing. It was more awful than usual. I can't even remember how it started, just that it wouldn't end. I can't remember who said what, but I couldn't take it anymore.

I punched him, right in the middle of his fat face.

Instead of flinching away and crying as usual, Eric took on a look of complete shock for two seconds. Next thing I knew, my back slammed into his kitchen wall and he started to whale on me, his fists pummeling into my stomach, my shoulder, my chest, everywhere. I fought back violently, feeling the need to put him six feet under.

I honestly don't know how long it went on, us two punching and kicking the living daylights out of each other. Eric took the worst of it; his lip was split, his eye swollen, and it looked like his fat couldn't save him from bruising like a peach.

I didn't exactly get off unscathed. He managed to land a rather impressive right hook to my ear, and for a few minutes my head wouldn't stop ringing. My entire body hurt.

The fighting stopped when I grabbed him by the shoulders and bodily shoved him up against the kitchen counter.

Bitterness rolled around my lungs, crashing violently into my throat like a wave on the rocks. I choked. I fought that sensation like I was at war with it. In the span of half a second, I lost.

I started to cry. Yeah, just like that, out of nowhere. Like a little girl, I sobbed angrily, trying to suck back crying noises with harsh breaths.

My fingers dug into Eric's arms, and I wouldn't let go. I cried into his shoulder, and he stood there and took it. He was eerily silent.

Five seconds into it, I realized I was having an emotional breakdown. I guess you could say I was a little slow on these things. I could tell it had been a long time coming. The insults, the useless arguments, the constant need to goad each other on—it all came crashing down on me in one momentous second. And I stood there and cried angrily into the shoulder of Eric Cartman, the source of all my misery.

Stan and Kenny stood several feet away, scared into silence. I never cried in front of them before that moment. I guess no one spoke or moved because my angry tears and harsh breaths were just too much to handle.

When my dignity couldn't take it anymore, I pushed off of Eric and stood in front of him, not making eye contact. I scrubbed at my eyes, willing the cold wetness of my tears to go away. I could tell Eric was looking at me, but I didn't want to meet his gaze.

"I'm sick and tired of this." His voice was flat, deep, and full of contempt. "I'm tired of you, Kyle. I'm tired of feeling like shit." He reached up to wipe blood off his chin and grimaced at the bright redness staining the back of his hand.

That wasn't how things usually went down between us. I'd beat his sorry ass, he'd cry home to mommy, and then _I'd_ tell him how sick and tired I was of all his crap. It was never the other way around.

I glared down at the cheap linoleum of his kitchen floor, my lips curled into an ugly sneer. "Well, that's _nice_, Cartman. Good for you." I felt more hot tears coming, and I squeezed my eyes shut harshly. My voice was raspy and furious as I kept vomiting bitter words. "Why don't you just leave then? Leave me the fuck alone. I'm just as tired of you as you are of me. So just go."

He was completely silent.

For the next few minutes, the only noise we could hear was the sound of my uneven, erratic breaths. I refused to look at anyone. I can remember staring at the cheap, plastic floor because I was too ashamed and angry to look at anyone.

"I'm sorry."

I could tell it killed him to say it. The apology came out shaky, almost wooden, but the sincerity was tangible—it almost frightened me. I knew Eric well enough to tell when he was lying and when he was being honest. My crying must have affected him badly enough, because all he did was stand there and look at me like he'd broken an expensive vase.

I didn't say anything. I pushed past him and walked out of the house.

* * *

><p>The next day, I found Kenny standing outside on my doorstep, looking like he'd rather be somewhere else.<p>

Frowning, I opened my front door and felt a tinge of annoyance when he looked up at me with fear in his eyes. "Was my crying really that awful?" I remember wondering.

"Hey, Kyle." His voice sounded so infuriatingly cautious and careful.

I crossed my arms and stepped aside to let him in. "Hey, dude. What's up?"

Kenny shrugged, walking in. I shut the door and turned to look at him. He still had that annoying, vigilant expression on his face, as if saying or doing anything would reduce me to a blubbering mass of angry tears. I resisted the almighty urge to snap at him.

"Kenny," I began silently, aware that my voice must have been more frightening quiet than it was when I shouted. "Did that fat bastard send you over here?"

The slight widening of Kenny's grey-blue eyes was all the answer that I needed.

I felt my blood boil over in a heartbeat. I was out my door and down the street before Kenny even realized where I was heading. My boots annihilated the dirty snow beneath my feet as I ran and kept running, my rage fueling a dark desire within me. Now that I think about it, I spent a lot of time in my youth running after Eric.

I didn't bother to knock. I just came crashing into the Cartman household, my eyes searching rapidly for him. Blood was pounding in my ears as I stomped through the living room, screaming at the top of my lungs: "CARTMAN, GET YOUR FAT ASS OUT HERE, _NOW_."

The commotion I caused downstairs must have drawn Eric out of his room. He appeared just as I started screaming, coming up from behind me.

"What the _hell_ is your problem, Kyle—"

I whipped around, snarling at him. "My problem is that you're too much of a coward, so you send _Kenny_, of all people, to my fucking house to apologize _for_ you."

My blood quickly hissed, bubbling green with poison as Eric crossed his arms and rolled his eyes like a petulant child. "Well, Jew-bitch, I figured that if I sent Butters, you'd beat the shit out of the guy, and then where would we be—"

"_Stop_ dicking around," I snapped, my fists impossibly tight. "I'm here now. You're standing in front of me. Fucking APOLOGIZE."

"Wha—Like _hell_. I'm not the one who started it yesterday!"

"For fuck's sake—you start it ALL the time with your racist, bigoted, retarded MOUTH."

Eric didn't appreciate that. He narrowed his eyes at me. "Kyle, why don't you go buy a dildo and _fuck off_. Seriously, I'm tired of all your bitching. If thirteen years with me hasn't taught you this much, then why the hell do you still hang around me?"

His words made something inside me stop dead. The rage was still coursing through my veins, but it became cold and muted the moment Eric asked me that question.

I scowled deeply at him, taking the evasive maneuver. "What are you talking about, fatass?"

His hazel eyes contained an abstract sentiment, morphed into something I couldn't completely understand—anger, frustration … pain. I could tell that Eric was hurting, but I didn't know why. I wanted to know why.

"Fuck you, Jew," he hissed, advancing towards me, using his height to cow me into submission. "I practically spit on your heritage every goddamn day. There isn't a _moment_ when I let you live down the fact that you're _you_. I make you feel like shit. I kick you around. I have _no_ fucking respect for you—at _all_."

He stopped, something at the back of his throat choking his words. He tried to keep going anyway. I noticed that his eyes weren't really meeting mine. His gaze drifted somewhere in between my nose and cheeks.

"For God's sake, Kyle. Why are you still _here_?"

I was silent for the longest time, trying with all my might to understand why Eric looked so sad and angry, standing right in front of me with his voice shaking, his knuckles white and taut. His lips were drawn into a thin line. For the life of me, I couldn't figure it out back then. I mean, how could I?

I swallowed, staring at him. I was a little shaken, but a lingering vestige of my anger kept my mouth working. "Are you saying … you've been trying harder to get me to hate you?"

"What I'm _saying_," Eric gritted out, "is that I'm trying to get _rid_ of you."

The sadness in his eyes told me otherwise.

I frowned. "But we're friends."

That actually made him laugh, and I could detect a hint of emotion in his chuckle, emotion trapped in between amused and cynical. "Bullshit, Jew. Priceless fucking bullshit. Where'd you pull that from—your little bag of Jew gold?"

That got a rise out of me. I jabbed a finger into his chest, snarling. "_Watch_ your mouth."

Eric's lips curled down into an ugly sneer. "Make me."

I could have taken that invitation in true Kyle-brand fashion: kick Eric's ass into all sorts of bent out shapes then bodily haul him into the bathroom so that I could shove his face down a toilet. But I didn't. Even I could sense that something was different about Eric. He just wasn't fighting me like he should have. He seemed drained and exhausted, and it bothered the hell out of my thirteen-year-old self. So instead I asked in a quiet, even voice: "Why are you trying to get rid of me?"

"Don't I always try to get rid of you?"

I could spot an evasion like I could react to his bullshit: Instantaneously.

"Never like this, no. Never half-assed, Cartman."

I could tell he found it a little funny, in the way he immediately bowed his head to stare at his shuffling feet. Then he grunted, crossing his arms, still refusing to look at me.

"I hate you, Kyle."

"And you're an eloquent son of a bitch."

"Using big words only makes you sound like a fag."

"And evading my question will only succeed in me pushing you."

"Just try it, Jew. The only reason I didn't kick your ass yesterday was because you started crying like a little girl."

It took the patience of a thousand Catholic saints to prevent me from grabbing his throat, shaking until I was sure Eric Cartman would tell no one and nothing about my pathetic incident. Right now, I can't figure out how the hell I managed not to kill him, but I can recall being rooted to the spot by the force I called a conscience.

Eric could tell that his jab affected me, more than he intended. It unnerved me to no end that instead of using it for leverage, he stood there like an idiot, looking guilty and bothered. I could see it in the way his lips pressed tightly together, as if to prevent an onslaught of words that would hurt me even more.

I scoffed, pride stinging. "What? Got nothing more to dish out, Cartman? Well, guess what? I don't want your pity. I'm not weak, and I sure as hell don't need sympathy from someone who so sorely lacks it. God knows you barely have an ounce of the stuff, so save that guilty look for children in Africa, or typhoon victims, someone who actually needs it—whatever. Because I'll keep fighting you, even if it kills me, because I know that I'm right, and you're _wrong_."

"Wrong about what?" Eric's voice had gone low, dangerously so. "Wrong about everything? As if being right means anything, Kyle. Being right means jack all. Where has that ever gotten you?"

"Farther than you'll go, that's for sure."

"Yeah, into fucking Narnia, where it's all sunshine and rainbows—a world full of love and happiness. Go ahead, set yourself up for disappointment."

I let out an aggravated breath through my nose and pulled on the flaps of my ushanka. "Would you _listen_ to yourself? This self-deprecating, angsty crap isn't like you. Where the hell is all this coming from?" Throwing my hands up into the air, I adopted his recently acquired habit of not making eye contact. I knew why I didn't want to, but my brain was too scared to manifest those reasons into thoughts.

"Is that what this is about? Disappointment?" I glared down at my snow soaked boots. "I don't understand you."

"Then _fucking LEAVE._"

He raised his voice at me in a way that made the hairs at the back of my neck prickle. A cold rivulet of fear slivered down my spine, and in that moment I experienced a phenomenon of dread so profound that my eyes were forced to meet Eric's like a deer in headlights.

If that cold sensation wasn't enough to off my frenzied heart, then the tears in Eric's eyes jolted me into a reality I didn't know existed. My mind was wiped clean of any thoughts I might have had, and the only thing I can remember feeling was an irrational pressure at the back of my skull that urged me to run away and actually listen to Eric for once: Leave, and leave for good.

"You know what the worst thing about you is, Kyle?" Eric began, his voice a raspy, broken whisper, and I couldn't bear to hear it. It was so far removed from what I knew that I didn't want to accept the fact that maybe, or certainly, Eric was giving up the fight.

"The worst thing about you is that you have this little rose-tinted bubble around you—yeah, like a friggin' hamster ball, you roll along in that godawful thing. You don't just have rose-tinted glasses; you're _encased_ in this notion that everything and everyone has … an ultimate good." Eric spat out that phrase like it was laced with anthrax. "Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you, Jew, but I'm a motherfucking _douche bag_, born and bred. No amount of your preaching, your fighting, or your friendship will ever change that."

God, he sounded so bitter. And the one thing that made it all hurt so much more was the fact that he unearthed me so easily. He came to the conclusion that I never wanted to reach, and maybe just for that, I resented him anew.

"So what if I want to try anyway …" I muttered, staring blankly at him. "So what if I'm naïve enough to do it?"

"So _what_ is this, Kyle: I'm _never_ going to change."

"How do you know that?"

"Because, for fuck's sake, you're quite possibly the only person on this friggin' earth that's ever actually made an effort, and a whole lot of good that's brought us."

I hated the fact that he made more sense than me in that moment. I kept pushing second chances, he kept fucking me over. Eric had a point. Why should I keep trying? He obviously didn't appreciate it.

My ridiculous, irrational impulse to stick with him really was centered on that one thought: He deserves a chance to change. Everyone does.

It made absolutely no sense, but I guess he was right about that hamster ball.

"I don't _care_ how far you push me away, fat ass," I hissed through gritted teeth, staring directly into his eyes with foolish determination. "As long as I'm me and you're you,—" God, that sounded stupid, "—I will never stop giving you second chances, because despite the fact that you're an awful person, I _know_ that you can never truly hurt me. You know why that is? Because with each and every effort you make, I'm going to know that there's that one small inch of you that isn't putting all of your heart into making me hate you. You'll never hurt me, Cartman, because we both know that we're a little too numb for that at this point."

I finished speaking, my voice strong, unwavering. We were silent as we stared at each other. He seemed to contemplate my words, but with his silence defied me and stuck by his notion of leaving it all behind, whatever it was that we had. Little did we both know that five years later we'd be doing that same song and dance, same bitterness in our words, him wanting to block me out, while I insisted on being let in.

We were both exhausted by each other at that point. We'd come to a pivotal moment where the integrity of your connection was being put to the test by a simple "Screw this, why bother?"

It was a miracle I stood my ground. Eric looked like he was prepared to walk out of my life.  
>But something happened. I don't want to take a chance and name it, but I guess I can describe it: the defiant expression in Eric's eyes changed, softening with an inaudible sigh, and I could see the warmth in his hazel irises. In a way, it was like he finally opened up to me—enough for me to extend my hand, reach past his rusting walls, and grasp his palm in mine. I guess what I'm trying to say is this:<p>

In that moment, I told him, in the simplest possible way, that he wasn't alone.

* * *

><p>One August evening, when we were both eighteen—I think I said this already—I took Eric rowing out in the old pond.<p>

Once I was sure that Stan and Kenny weren't hiding in the bushes somewhere, I led Eric out of my car, blindfolded, ignoring him as he cursed me for my Jewish tendencies (yeah, even now he's still capable of being an immature dickhead) and led him over to a small white boat. I convinced him to step into it, which was no small feat, and once I rowed us perfectly into the center of the water, I told him to take off the blindfold.

All Eric's paranoid prattling was silenced as the overwhelming sight greeted him.

Golden strings of light hung from across the trees, forming a makeshift canopy of twinkling stars above us. Paper lanterns glowed warm orange, floating across the still surface of the water, mimicking the reflected radiance of the moon. Only the sound of crickets could be heard as I watched him look around.

I leaned back in my seat, watching as Eric's face adopted several expressions, one after the other. The light warmed up his skin, made it glow gold, and his hair looked darker and softer in the gentle radiance. I refused to acknowledge the swelling in my chest, because it wasn't about me. I wanted it to be about him.

From the awed, disbelieving glimmer in his eyes, I knew that no one else had ever done something like that for him. It made me feel angry, knowing that if someone had at least made the effort to love Eric like I did, he wouldn't have felt the need to destroy everything he touched.

For the longest time, no words came from his mouth. He didn't look at me. I waited patiently.  
>Then he drew in a deep, shaky breath. Hunching over, he held his face in his hands. I almost lost his whisper to the warm summer breeze. "Why the hell do you have to try so fucking hard all the time, Jew?"<p>

I swallowed past the lump in my throat, staring at the top of his silky brown head. "Is it wrong that I try, Cartman? Because this is my decision—I do it because I want to. If you're uncomfortable about it, just tell me to stop, and I will."

There was a pause in which I watched him avoid my gaze. He then chanced a glance at me, his eyes conveying a self-conscious sense of uncertainty.

"Why, Kyle?"

"Because I love you."

He was about to contradict me. I saw it in the way he tensed his shoulders, but I didn't want him to spend another moment doubting what we had.

"This whole sappy thing I did for you tonight? I wanted to do it because I love you, not to _prove_ to you that I love you. I'll do that some other way." I hesitated for a moment, then reached out and held his hand. He looked up at me, scowling. I didn't let it discourage me. "Remember what I said a few weeks ago? That I wanted to prove to you that there are some people in this world who will never leave you? Yeah, well … I love you. So I won't leave you."

Eric's frown deepened, and I felt exasperated because of it. "You can't promise me that. You don't want to turn out a liar, do you, Kyle?" He said it in such a condescending, cynical way; I had a hard time deciding whether it broke my heart or my patience.

I frowned, letting go of my hold on him. Running my hands through my hair, I sighed. Leaning back against the stern of the small white boat, I looked up at the Christmas lights strewn ten feet above the pond. I could tell Eric was thinking. We both knew that I sure as hell wasn't going to kiss his ass, begging that he believe my promise.

I heard him grunt. In my peripheral vision, I could see him cross his arms stubbornly across his chest. I knew he was about to surrender, and I couldn't resist a smug grin.

"I'll believe you when a year's passed and we haven't killed each other," he grumbled, refusing to look at me as I saw that familiar rise of color in his cheeks.

I could feel my own cheeks warm up as I smiled outright. "We've lived through eighteen years together, with five years of ceasefire until this day. I think that's a pretty good sign."

Eric muttered something about me being a smartass, know-it-all little shit, something completely unrelated to the situation, and pulled me towards him by my sweater. His soft, moist lips met mine. He was still really awkward at kissing, his eyes squeezed shut, his mouth entirely too stiff, but I smiled anyway and kissed him back, coaxing Eric into a state of relaxation.

We spent the entire evening lying on opposite ends of that small white boat, looking up at the lights and stars, talking and laughing about irrelevant, unimportant things. He held my hand the entire time. I told him I loved him. He told me he loved me.

"I love you, Eric."

"I love you, too, you dumb Jew."

I wanted to tell him "forever". I decided to wait. I wouldn't just tell him, I'd prove it. That always kept running through my mind.

* * *

><p>Everything that could possibly be said about summer romances has been said. I won't repeat any of that sappy, faggy, warm-and-fuzzy drivel, even if <em>some<em> of it is true.

Eric and I talked it over, and a week before our second year of post-secondary (I went to Colorado University, and Eric attended the Metropolitan State College), we picked out a small, one-bedroom apartment in Denver, where the street outside was always noisy, and the neighbors weren't exactly friendly.

No one questioned it; everyone knew at that point that the two of us could be left in a room alone together without killing each other. So living underneath the same roof wasn't a step too far.

It wasn't an issue for us, and we didn't make a big deal out of it.

Our new home had off-white walls, fading green carpets, and an air conditioner that refused to work. Rent was reasonable, and I managed to get a job at an obscure art store that always smelled of cinnamon sticks. Within a month, Eric and I established a domestic routine of sorts: we'd take turns doing the laundry every week; I'd always pick up the mail on my way up from work; Eric would deal with the drunken landlord when the rent was due; I vacuumed, so he cooked the meals; and always, without fail, we both dedicated our Friday nights sitting on our second-hand couch, watching a movie or playing video games.

Our furniture was a mish-mash of stuff from home: Eric's double bed, my book case, his wardrobe, my computer, his desk, the couch from his basement, the coffee table sitting in my garage, and a mismatched set of dining chairs from both of our houses, along with a rectangular dining table. The only thing we would not compromise on was the flat screen, 59", HD TV. It was the only aspect of our humble home that was new, sleek, and absolutely sacred. We spent the following year paying our baby off, but it was well worth the money, considering how much time we spent on the couch, indulging ourselves with slices of HD heaven.

The way we treated that thing, you'd think it was our child.

Our first fight happened when Eric announced, oh so highly and mightily, that he was sick and tired of my mother calling every evening to check up on me.

He began with a small, facetious comment as I ended a routine phone conversation with my mom one evening. "Oh, Kylie dear, have you brushed your teeth? Flossed in between meals? Do you make sure to wash your hands after you've been outside? _Oh_, and _do_ make sure to use condoms when you have naughty gay sex with your boyfriend." His tone was high pitched and, quite frankly, a little creepy.

I frowned at Eric as I pocketed my cell phone. "My mom would have told me so, except for two things: we're not really having naughty gay sex—but God knows if I had my way, we would have by now. And she doesn't even _know_ about us."

I don't know which got to him more: the fact that we weren't having sex, or the troubling burden of keeping our relationship a secret from everyone back at home. The first problem was entirely his fault; I tried to sneak up on him in the shower once, and I never tried initiating sex after that. The entire fiasco ended up with me falling on my naked ass outside the bathroom door, Eric muttering dark obscenities from within the shower. I guess he felt self-conscious, but that was really no reason to knee me in the stomach and throw me out the door.

From then on, we both knew that sex was going to be a problem. I guess I should have expected it, given how he must have viewed sex growing up. I don't want to blame Eric's mother, but ignoring the fact that she was responsible for Eric's sensitivity would have been turning a blind eye.

We were both okay with making out. I'd usually let him take the wheel, and I spent many Sunday afternoons lying on the couch underneath Eric, groaning as he touched and kissed me roughly.

Second base was as far as we got within three months of living together. By the end of November, I was starting to get frustrated. I didn't want to push him, so I turned towards vacuuming the carpet whenever I felt the urge to jump Eric. The fact that our apartment was dust free and always smelled of lemon and lavender was a testament to the fact that I wasn't about to get some any time soon.

It was during that particular November when Eric started our first fight by making that comment about my mother, condoms, and naughty gay sex. I would have let it go, as per usual when I didn't feel like fighting about something so juvenile, but certain parts of me were rebelling from neglect.

I argued with Eric for the first time within months. We had petty disagreements every day, but none of it escalated to screaming and hitting.

"My mom would have told me so, except for two things: we're not really having naughty gay sex—but God knows if I had my way, we would have by now. And she doesn't even _know_ about us."

"Well, whatever, Kyle. That wasn't my point."

"Then what the hell _is_ your point?"

"My point is that your mom has to realize one of these days that you're a grown man. You're not helping the matter by letting the bitch hover over you from miles away. Fuck's sake, stand up for yourself."

"Do NOT talk about my mom that way, Cartman. She's just not used to me being so far away, so just fuck off about it."

"You're just mad because I'm right."

"Of course you are. That's why I'm walking out that door before I punch the 'right' out of your face."

So there was no screaming or hitting, just me walking out on Eric. I don't want to admit that it was quite possibly the most childish thing I'd ever done, and I also couldn't admit to myself that Eric had a point about my mother. I did let her hover over me, even when I was living miles away from home, supposedly as an independent citizen. Of course I could admit that he was right, but not when it put my pride at risk. Tack on the significant lack of sex in my life, and I was out of the apartment building within five seconds, zooming down the street in my car.

My mother's constant nagging, stress from university life, and Eric's inability to put out stretched my temper taut, like a metal wire that if snapped could cut right into flesh.

Driving always calmed my nerves, especially when I cruised through residential streets, where traffic was minimal, and the silence deafening. I was on the road for probably ten minutes, before I fully realized that I was acting like a jerk.

I pulled a miraculous U-turn, and sped back home. The urge to get something to placate Eric's anger almost had me pulling over at a store, but no places were open that late, which probably worked out for the best.

After parking the car, I ran up the apartment stairs, two steps at a time, until I reached the third floor, coming to a halt in front of apartment 3C. Wrenching the door open, I ran my hand through my hair, searching for Eric with guilty eyes.

He was sitting on the couch watching TV, his back towards me, unaware of the fact that I'd come home penitent and chastised.

I cautiously made my way over to the back of the couch, slowly sliding my hands onto his shoulders. He tensed, jumping slightly. Eric glared up at me.

"So the prodigal Jew is back. Well, well, well."

I ignored his sarcasm. I ignored the fact that his use of "prodigal" was grammatically incorrect—literally had to bite my tongue to stop myself from correcting him. "Dude, you were right, okay? I'm sorry."

"You're sleeping on the couch."

"Wh—Cartman, geez, I said I was sorry."

"Well, fuck you, Jew. If every time we have a problem, you're just going to walk out like that, then please do us both a favor and screw off, Kyle. I'm really not impressed."

I saw what he was getting at and squeezed my eyes shut, feeling even more like a jerk, before sighing through my nose. I looked down at him, eyes impassioned. "Don't say that, Eric. I just needed a few minutes to cool off, alright? I told you, I'm never leaving." I made my way to the front of the couch, kneeling in front of him. I placed my hands together on his thigh and rested my chin on his knee. I found that when I knelt in front of Eric, staying physically lower than him made him feel more inclined to forgiving me.

"I'm sorry if I made you worry. I just got really mad when you said that stuff about my mom …" I paused, pursing my lips together, "… even if you were right." I resisted the urge to scowl, and tried my utmost best to look contrite.

Eric crossed his arms and looked down at me. He had a smug expression in his eyes, but his face remained neutral as he murmured, "Say it again, Kyle."

Again, I had to bite my tongue to hold back a sour "Like hell." I swallowed, meeting his gaze. "You were right, Cartman."

"No."

I sighed. "You were right, Eric, and I'm sorry for walking out on you like that."

For a moment, he was silent, letting it all sink in as I waited anxiously for him to give me the "okay." Instead of a self-righteous smirk of Cartman-brand arrogance, Eric leaned down and tilted my chin up, planting a soft, chaste kiss on my lips. A few seconds before I closed my eyes and leaned into his touch, I caught sight of a pleased, almost relieved expression in Eric's eyes.

He was scared that I would leave him.

He pulled me forward to lie on the couch. I whispered the promise I told myself I'd hold back. As he showered my neck with lingering kisses, I grasped his soft hair, letting it slide in between my fingers as I sighed, "Forever, Eric. I'll stay with you forever."

* * *

><p>"Are you sure ..?"<p>

"Jesus, Kyle, just shut up."

"No, I won't."

My hot breath ghosted against his cheek, and I could feel the humidity of his sigh against my skin. My lips twitched as his warm tongue grazed the corner of my mouth.

"Eric, I couldn't live with myself if—"

"Kyle, I told you, it's fine. Now stop ruining the fucking mood."

"Eric?"

"Christ … What?"

"I love you."

His pink face hovered above mine, his arms poised on either side of me on the bed. He grunted, nuzzling his nose against my own, an affectionate habit he so rarely showed. His hazel eyes were glassy and vibrant with need.

"I love you, too, Kyle."

December 25th. I will never forget that night. Merry Christmas indeed, Kyle.

* * *

><p><em>Black out.<em>

_Fade in from black. An empty white stool sits, underneath a window, in the corner of a white room. The sky is grey outside._

_Cut to a shot of leather boots walking toward the stool. Cut to a shot of a young man's torso as he sits down in the stool. His face is not shown._

_Fade out to black._

* * *

><p>Kyle steps into the apartment, hands numb and angry from the bitter cold, his nose runny. Chucking his keys and the mail into a wooden bowl by the door, he kicks off his snow soaked boots as he makes his way into the brightly lit kitchen.<p>

Unzipping his heavy jacket, Kyle observes Eric from behind, taking note of the smell of chicken and pasta. Eric stands in front of the stove, scraping food onto two white porcelain plates. Draping his burgundy jacket across a dining chair—one of the four mismatched chairs around the table—Kyle sits down at his usual spot.

"That smells nice," he murmurs, stifling a yawn.

Eric turns around, glancing over his shoulder at Kyle. "Welcome home."

Their words sound sleepy, tired, and listless. Kyle doesn't seem to think much about it, just sits in his chair and rubs his eyes in exhaustion. Eric, upon turning away from Kyle, frowns and stares solemnly at the meal he's prepared. He's arranged the pasta and chicken on two separate plates, carefully bringing it to the table. He sets them down, one in front of Kyle, and the other he brings to his own spot.

They don't pray.

Kyle picks up a fork that's been set down for him, mutters a quiet "Thank you," with a nondescript smile, and begins to eat. He appears grateful for the warm food after spending some time out in the winter cold.

Eric observes Kyle for a few moments, before turning to frown at his food.

The rest of the evening passes by without further conversation. Kyle washes the dishes as Eric cleans up in the kitchen. The two bump shoulders but remain silent.

Kyle then makes his way into the living room, opening his book bag. He starts up on a reading assignment, simultaneously scribbling vigorously at a Physics worksheet. He doesn't look up as Eric makes his way into their lone bedroom.

Three hours later, Kyle shuffles quietly into the dark bedroom. He takes care not to make too much noise as he strips himself of his jeans and t-shirt to change into a pair of cotton shorts. Climbing into bed quietly, Kyle starts as Eric wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him close.

Grunting, Kyle rolls over, muttering, "I'm tired, Cartman. It's late."

Eric remains silent. He eventually shifts away from Kyle.

They sleep with their backs to each other.

* * *

><p><em>Fade in from black.<em>

_An empty white stool sits in the corner of a room, underneath a window. The sky is grey outside. Cut to the same shot of the empty white stool, only with a young man sitting in it, tapping his foot, his hands laced together in between his knees. His face is cut off._

_Fade to black._

* * *

><p>After three years, I really don't know what went wrong.<p>

I love him. God. I love him so much. I don't know what made me want to move away every time Eric touched me, but I started to recognize the doubts as they crept up on me.

"What if we don't stay together?"

"What if I'm not what he really wants?"

"What if we're not supposed to be together?"

I buried myself in my work. I didn't want to think about it. But soon, the doubts boiled over, and the poison seeped into my mind.

I love Eric. I do. I just had a moment of weakness.


	2. Part II: Temptation

Rated M for ideologically sensitive material, use of substances, strong language, and sexual material.

* * *

><p>Infidelity, Part II: Temptation<p>

* * *

><p>The vibration from his pants pocket shoots up his waist, shaking Kyle out of his contemplative reverie. Glancing toward the front of the lecture hall, Kyle pulls out his phone. He checks to see who sent it and sees that it's from Eric. Opening the message, it reads: <em>Lunch café?<em>

Kyle rereads the text at least five more times before sighing. He puts his phone back in his pocket, pulling his chin up to listen to the professor at the front of the hall.

* * *

><p><em>Fade in from black.<em>

_The scene is a wide shot of a dim stage. A pale green spotlight hits stage center, revealing a young man seated atop a small white stool. He is tall with curly red hair, sporting a white dress shirt, jeans, and leather boots._

_His head is bowed._

_Cut to a medium close up._

_He raises his head, staring into the camera. The light turns red, contrasting against his turquoise-green eyes._

_Cut to a close up._

_The young man opens his mouth._

_Blackout._

* * *

><p>I trudged out of the dreary exam hall, my mind muddled with thoughts of upcoming finals. In those days, that was all I cared about, and I found that no amount of worrying or studying ever seemed to make it okay. I was never content, but I didn't exactly do anything to solve my uneasy anxiety.<p>

At the beginning of my life at university, I'd been dead set on going into Colorado Law. After three years of undergraduate studies, my plans didn't seem as solid to me anymore. The possibility of being a lawyer became less appealing the more I thought of it, and the more I thought of it, the less passionate I became about my studies.

It was a treadmill that I was chained to, and the downward spiral only seemed to be accelerating faster as each day passed. Life became shades of grey before my eyes, and I knew that I was letting it happen. I let myself drown in a world of apprehensive apathy, but I couldn't, for the life of me, figure out how I was supposed to get out of it.

I made my way out of the building, hunching my shoulders against the biting wind of December. Eric's text message nagged at me from the back of my mind, but I decided to ignore it.

After ten minutes of dragging my feet through the soft snow, I arrived at the library, intent on finishing three hours worth of studying. It was only just one o'clock by the time I arrived.

Selecting a quiet table by the southern end, I set down my things, beginning to pull out from my bag a few books, papers, and my laptop. I cleared my mind, as usual, typing vigorously at my computer. I forgot about Eric's invitation, and whether I did that deliberately or unintentionally still nags at me until today.

I remembered thinking: "Nineteen years old, Kyle, and you still haven't learned a thing."

* * *

><p>Summer romances are naïve, idyllic notions that are meant to be lived in the moment, not preserved throughout a lifetime. Trying to prolong a summer romance is akin to taking a white rose and attempting to extend its natural existence in a pretty crystal flute. Sooner or later, you watch it turn a dull, decaying brown where pure, innocent white used to glow, and then you're left with crumbling petals in a pretty vase.<p>

Five months after I moved in with Eric, I noticed certain tendencies that I never understood before, despite us being childhood friends. On certain days, he would completely ignore me for small things I did, like this one occasion when I left my socks on the couch; he pitched a fit and wouldn't speak to me for two days. At other times, something would be completely of his own making, and the blame would somehow be shoved haphazardly onto my shoulders. He'd display random bouts of possessive jealousy, and although I'd done nothing to earn resentment, he became angry with me anyway.

I always let it slide, but his shittiness reached its peak during our first New Year together. Three girls in room 4B, just a floor above us, were holding a party, and decided to invite the entire frigging block. Being bored, Eric and I contemplated the pros and cons of keeping to ourselves that evening as opposed to joining the racket upstairs (instead of having to put up with it in our own apartment). In the end, our complete lack of alternative options won out, and we found ourselves pushing past stumbling drunks on the stairwell at eleven in the evening.

We both ended up wandering into the crummy apartment a floor above ours, greeted by the stench of cheap beer, sweat, and marijuana smoke. Not for the first time in my life, I witnessed the cesspool of humanity that I was so strongly against, but given how intent Eric seemed on "letting loose," I found it in me to let it go for one night.

As we ventured into the poorly lit apartment, our ears suffered the vibrations of pounding rap music while our noses were hit with the smell of alcohol, sweat, and secondhand smoke. People were either standing against the walls, conversing with bowed heads, or lolling about on the floor, either high, drunk, or both.

In a matter of minutes, I lost Eric in the pulsating crowd, although I didn't feel too worried. He can handle himself, I thought, stepping over a drunken girl (pretty sure she was underage) and found myself in the kitchen, which was lit with eerie red Christmas lights, strewn every which way from the cupboards to the unlit track lights above the counter. It was significantly less crowded in there, and I found myself at a beverage table.

I frowned down at the ominous punch bowl, grabbing a lukewarm can of Coke from beside it, not feeling up to date rape drugs or any other kind of contraband that evening.

Making my way into the crowded living room, I glanced around, trying not to seem too out of place. My bluffing must have worked, because after three seconds, someone tapped me from behind.

I turned around, and took in a smiling face. The blonde girl behind me was probably about a foot shorter in her high heeled shoes, and I can recall that her eyes were brown, and she wore that stuff girls used for their eyelashes. She didn't smell half as bad as everyone else did.

I think she introduced herself—Georgiana, Bianca, Patricia, either one of those names—she was one of the girls who owned the apartment. I couldn't hear her over the pounding of the rap music, and so I nodded politely and introduced myself as "Kyle, the guy living downstairs."

Georgiana-Bianca-Patricia smiled her pretty pixie smile, and said, "How come you've never introduced yourself before?"

I must have shrugged, or some other noncommittal movement of my body. "Never got the opportunity. I don't see any of the people in this building too often."

"Did you come alone tonight, or are you flying solo, Kyle-from-downstairs?" Georgiana-Bianca-Patricia smiled prettily.

I could tell she was coming on to me. In that moment, I prayed to God that Stan would magically materialize out of thin air. He always knew what to say to anybody.

I decided to play it casual, shrugging for what felt like the millionth time—which was actually the second time. "I came here with my roommate, actually. Um, I think he's around here somewhere—I'm not sure."

G-B-P nodded, still smiling then noticed that I was holding a Coke. She giggled, tilting her head to the side. "Not drinking, Kyle? Don't tell me you're underage."

I was only just eighteen at the time, and I sure as hell knew she was way above twenty-one. I contemplated whether or not to lie, and within the span of half a second, I was saved from making a decision by someone stumbling right in between me and G-B-P.

I would have been relieved, except that it was Eric.

He was completely shit-faced, which told me that I'd left him alone for too long, and he also smelled of a foreign kind of smoke.

I stared in motionless horror as he wobbled in between me and G-B-P, and I think she was pretty bothered by it, too, judging by how her previously refined, cheery expression morphed into a rather unpleasant sneer.

Eric was laughing about something completely ridiculous, made a crack about the shitty rap and black people, and miraculously straightened to face G-B-P. He looked her up and down, glanced back at me, then grabbed the drink she was holding and chugged it down his throat.

I let out a cry of protest, which went unheard in the din.

The next thirty seconds shot the entire evening all to hell. Eric leaned forward, wrapping his arms around the livid frame of G-B-P, and started slurring out heinous words. "_God_, you know what? You don't smell half as bad as these shitty, no-good hippies smoking pot from water bottles. Don't look too bad either, but I think that's just the roofies talking. _Fuck_, I don't even know what the fuck roofies are, _seriouslah_, but I'm pretty sure they make you trip out like _holy goddamn_. Like, right now, I just really want to have sex with you. You're totally hot. Nice tits, nice ass, and you look like you could take a good pounding. I would _totally_ do the motherfucking _piss_ right out of you."

I dropped my Coke can.

On pure impulse, I seized Eric by the front of his sweater, hauling his weight across the floor, ignoring people who got trampled along the way. I can't remember what the hell happened—I saw red the moment Eric slithered his fingers down G-B-P's inner thigh, and I continued to see red until I slammed the door of our apartment shut.

I shoved Eric away from me as I stalked into our bathroom, seething, fists clenched impossibly tight.

As I turned on the sink tap and proceeded to splash my face with cold water, I was dimly aware of Eric slowly making his way towards the bathroom. My ears were a little deaf, but the raging thunder inside my skull was beginning to pound away at my sanity.

I grabbed a towel from the rack by the sink and scrubbed my face dry, noticing him standing quietly in the doorway. I said nothing as I threw the towel on the floor, taking livid steps without looking at Eric. As I was about to push past him, he grabbed my arm.

Whipping my head to face him, I could tell exactly how sober the motherfucker was.

"Don't touch me." My voice was low and quiet.

Eric frowned, flexing his fingers around my bicep. "It was a joke, Kyle."

"Does it _look_ like I'm laughing?"

"I was doing you a favor." Before I could shoot him a look of complete disgust, he kept plowing on. "That slut was totally coming on to you."

"I don't need you to save me from strangers, Cartman." He visibly winced at my vehement use of his last name. "I was doing fine until you decided to be a complete douche bag. Besides, we were only having small talk, and it wasn't as if I was flirting back. You know me well enough."

"Well, I wasn't about to have that bitch touching you—"

"And it was completely _fine_ for YOU to have your hands all over her?"

"I told you, it was a fucking JOKE, Kyle."

"Then tell me what the fuck is so funny about 'I would _totally_ do the motherfucking _piss_ right out of you?'"

"I WAS JOKING."

I whipped his hand off my arm. "WELL, I'M NOT LAUGHING, ASSHOLE."

Before that moment, we never yelled at each other. It felt awful.

There was a pounding behind my forehead, and I realized with horror that an onslaught of red hot frustration was starting to brand itself into my lungs. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. I wanted to get the bloody flying fuck out of there. I didn't want to look at Eric, especially when he was being an indignant, self-righteous bastard when none of it was my fault.

Feeling a rush of defeat that clenched around the hollow of my chest, I slumped against the bathroom wall and buried my face against my hands. A horrible, repulsive sound vibrated at the back of my throat as I choked back a sob.

It was that feeling again, that feeling of overwhelming power that rolled in my lungs and crashed like waves upon the rocks. The treacherous blend of resentment, frustration, and pain was overwhelming my senses, and my body saw no other option but to break down. I couldn't stop it.

As I valiantly fought back a rush of tears, Eric stood three paces away from me.

I didn't look at his face, but I could tell he wasn't happy with me.

He scoffed and muttered, "Jesus, pull yourself together, Jew. That's just pathetic."

I don't know what the hell I was expecting from him, but the fact that his reaction didn't come as a surprise hurt more than it should have.

His crass words seared scorching, frigid marks in the hollow of my chest, and I decided that I couldn't take it anymore. I pushed off the wall, and elbowed my way out of the bathroom.

I stomped across the narrow hallway, crashing into our bedroom. Locking the door behind me, I searched around the room, my vision blurry with hot tears. Getting down on my knees, I felt my way underneath the bed until I grasped my duffel bag in between my fingers.

Eric's banging on the door only served to numb my ears as I shoved my clothes into the bag.

I ran out of the apartment as fast as I could, grabbing my car keys on the way out the door. Eric's heavy footfalls thundered from ten feet behind me. I ran even faster.

I was in the parking lot in a matter of seconds. The ice cold air didn't stop me. Wrenching my car door open, I practically dove into the driver's seat, not pausing to watch as Eric stumbled out of the complex doors.

I sped out of there like a madman, almost forgetting about the icy roads.

I drove with no real destination, trying to stifle the angry sobs coming from deep within my lungs. At that time, I was so sure I hated Eric, hated him for what he did and said. The desperate need to get as far away from him as possible had me driving for almost three hours, well into early morning.

I soon found myself parked in an unfamiliar, rundown neighborhood, feeling hungry and absolutely shitty. The entire place looked so remote and crummy and desolate. It certainly didn't help the aching in my chest.

I parked in front of a snow-covered field, noting the time to be three-forty in the morning. Turning off my engine, I grabbed an extra jacket from my duffel bag and shrugged it on. I figured that if I planned on camping out in my car until I had somewhere to go, I should bundle up. The lingering heat should have lasted me a good half hour before the below zero temperatures set in.

I slouched in my seat, glowering at the flickering street lamp about ten meters ahead.

A dull vibration from my pocket grabbed my attention fifteen minutes later. The thought occurred to me that it might very well be Eric texting me to get my ass back home before I got my stupid Jewish self killed. Feeling the need to spite him, I pulled out my phone, the beginnings of a message full of hate already half formed in my brain.

I was so pissed off my hands were shaking, and I only got so far as pulling out my phone and staring at the screen with an ache in my chest. _One new message from Eric_.

A debate raged in my head; should I answer it, or just leave it? It would serve Eric right to screw around right in front of me. In the end, I left the message unanswered, tossing my phone in the backseat of the car.

A few minutes later, my ringtone went off, and my phone vibrated merrily as I received an incoming call. Probably from Eric, I thought.

I made no moved to pick up. My hand lazily passed over the buttons on my dashboard, before turning on the radio. Classic rock was playing, and I turned up the volume. The ringing from my phone was drowned out as I nodded my head to the melody of a guitar solo, and I felt an ounce of triumph in my rebellion.

It was short lived, however, as the cold temperatures sunk in sooner than I thought. I almost dozed off to the sound of drum beats and bass strumming, before I looked in my mirror and saw my phone from the backseat. It was vibrating. Another incoming call.

I watched with lazy eyes as the phone rang and rang, then went silent. A notification popped up for a missed call. Then another sprang up for a message in my voicemail.

I must have fallen asleep, because next thing I knew I was blinking bleary eyes, and the time was six-fifteen. The car felt insanely cold, and I had no choice but to start up the engine and turn on the heater. My radio was silent, and I assumed I must have turned it off.

Huddling into my jacket, I watched as my breath formed puffs of condensation in front of my face. I suddenly remembered my phone, and I turned around to glance at it. The thing looked sad and silent, and for a moment, I contemplated running over it with the car. Sighing, I picked it up deftly, checking to see my notifications.

Five unread text messages from Eric. A missed call from my mom, and nine from him. And one message in my voicemail.

I accessed my voicemail and listened.

There was a lull over the line, and I could hear Eric's breathing. Then he said: "Real mature, Kyle. Just walk away and don't even answer my messages. I didn't know you could be this much of a pussy, and _no_, don't try to fucking act like this is all my fault. I didn't _do_ anything wrong, and you're being a fucking princess for acting like this. So just get your ass over here, _right now_, before I find something to get really pissed off about."

The message stopped there.

I managed to rein in my anger, and somehow kept from chucking my phone out in the dark street. The message had been left at five-ten.

After sitting in my car for ten minutes of absolute silence, I decided to head back home. Managing to navigate my way out of the unfamiliar neighborhood, I found my way back in the apartment parking lot thirty minutes later. I parked the car in my spot, and glared solemnly at my dashboard.

I grabbed my bag from the passenger seat and got out, slamming the car door shut behind me. As I made my way up the apartment stairwell, the thought occurred to me that it was the New Year. What a shitty way to start it. In hindsight, maybe I should've gotten piss drunk, and maybe my fight with Eric wouldn't have happened. Shaking my head to clear the disturbing thoughts, I continued to trudge up to the third floor, hungry and tired, my back aching something fierce.

I slowly slid my keys in the door, staring at the faded letters on our home. 3C. The entire building was ominously silent.

The door swung open silently, much to my relief. I could hear no noise coming from within, so I assumed Eric was already asleep. I walked into the small vestibule, leaving my boots by the hall closet. The hunger nagging in my stomach got to me first, and so I found my way to the kitchen, opening the fridge to find something edible.

Laziness and fatigue won out in the end, so I found myself eating stale cereal at seven in the morning. I was sitting at my usual spot at the dining table, facing away from the door. As I frowned and ate my food, Eric's silent footsteps didn't register until he was directly behind me.

"I didn't expect to see you crying back so fucking early."

I tensed, freezing my hand from where it was creating tidal waves in my bowl with a spoon. For five seconds, I let the silence set in then resumed eating. A heavy intake of breath from behind told me that the cold shoulder was pissing Eric off.

"I thought you would have made it all the way back to South Park by now," Eric continued. I felt his fingers grasp the back of my chair. "Just think about it, Kyle. You could be safe and sound with Stan and mommy dearest, and you wouldn't have to worry about all your little problems anymore."

He was taunting me. The tension was palpable, but I refused to make anything of it. I kept eating.

Eric's tone was dangerously casual. "If you went crying home now, no one would ever suspect you of anything, Kyle. They would all understand how hard it is to live away from home. They would understand how fucking hard it is to _pretend_ you're something else."

My hand froze. My jaw clenched.

"Go ahead, Kyle, and be my fucking guest. Go home and tell everybody that you're not gay and turn your bitching back—"

"DON'T make this about me, Cartman." I could feel the hot rage boiling in my chest, and my voice was deep and tight.

"Well, then don't be a fucking princess, Broflovski," he spat. Hauling my chair, he spun it around so that I would face him. He grasped the back of the seat on either side of my shoulders and leaned down, staring with black hatred into my eyes. Defiantly, I met his gaze, sneering.

"How am I overreacting?" I hissed, my voice low and filled with disgust. "You were deliberately trying to piss me off, so when I _do_ react the way you expect me to, you completely screw me over and make _me_ look like the bad guy."

"Cut the crap, Kyle." His hands tightened around the chair. "I told you, I was doing it for your own good. Pardon me if I'm trying to keep my boyfriend from running off with some STD-ridden skank-ho."

My eyes widened in shock. I breathed heavily as I shoved him away. "You think this is about _me_ trying to run off with someone else? For GOD'S SAKE, open your eyes!" I clenched my hair in my hands, refusing to meet his hot gaze. "I might not be gay, Cartman, but that doesn't mean I'm going to run off with every girl who fucking talks to me."

He growled, grabbing my arms to shake me. "You think I'm BLIND, Kyle? I can see how fucking different we both are! People look at you and see this regal, handsome, smart guy who's so fucking perfect with everything that he does—why wouldn't someone want to steal you away from me?"

To be completely honest, I softened just the slightest bit underneath his words. It didn't completely leave my mind that what he did was absolutely shitty, but in some fucked up way, I understood his possessiveness and fear.

Frowning, I looked up at him, ignoring the pain as his fingers dug into my biceps. "No one's going to steal me away. I'm right here."

Eric let out a frustrated whine. "How the fuck do I know that?"

"I came back, didn't I?"

Sighing, I slumped forward in my chair, holding my head in my hands. His palms slid off me, and I could tell he was pained. Eric only ever did shitty things to me when he was scared, and that time was no exception.

I decided to placate him, speaking slowly and quietly with my head bowed. "You're the only guy I've ever loved like this. We've been together for half a year now, and … things were going great. Yeah, we have our arguments, but why should we let that get in the way of what we have?" I sighed, glancing up at him. His hazel eyes were shaken, and his fingers trembled at his sides. I continued, turning to look at the floor. "Eric, you shouldn't be afraid of me running off with someone else. I told you, I'm never leaving you, and I'm never going to hurt you. You don't have to be afraid of that because it's never going to happen. I love you." I bit my lip, feeling my voice crack. "I love you forever. I promised, and I'm not going back on my word. Not now. Not ever. But …"

I could practically feel him tense in fear. I made sure to speak slowly.

"Your possessiveness … it's exhausting. I don't want to have to watch myself every time I talk to someone who you _might_ think is threatening. I'm telling you right now, Eric, if you keep acting like that, then it's going to become suffocating. You need to learn to trust me."

"I do trust you, Kyle," he blurted out, a childish quiver prominent in his voice. "It's other people I don't trust around you."

"Well, I can take care of myself."

"I don't want you to leave, Kyle."

"I won't."

"Don't leave me for someone else."

"Eric … I would never do that."

"Don't love anyone else like you love me."

"That's not possible."

"Don't look at anyone else the way you look at me."

"I won't."

"Don't touch anyone else the way you touch me."

"I won't."

"I'm the only one, Kyle. I'm the only one who'll love you this way, and we both know that."

"Eric, I'm not going to leave, and I certainly won't toss you away like you think I will." Our faces were only centimeters apart as he leaned over me, staring into my eyes with a subconscious sentiment of traumatized panic. "You're the only one I love. Hell, even when I want to punch you in the face, I still love you. Even right now, even if you're being unreasonable."

"I'm _not_ being unreasonable."

"Whatever. Point is, I love you. And if you love me back, you'll loosen your hold on me and let me have my freedom. Otherwise this isn't going to work out."

Eric's breathing changed, his inhales coming rapid and shaky. "K-Kyle, you said that—Jesus, you said you wouldn't— "

"A relationship isn't a one-way street," I ground out, steadfast. "You have to let go of your insecurities and trust me, otherwise you won't have a choice in the matter. I'll have to spend some time away until you learn to let your insecurities go. I mean, haven't I done enough to make you understand that no power on earth could make me stop loving you?"

Eric swallowed, his lower lip trembling. I could tell he desperately wanted me to stay with him. Again, that feeling of him needing me kept me bound by his side.

"Kyle … I love you." His voice trembled.

I whispered, my voice low and soothing, "I know that." I reached up to stroke his arm. My hands felt cool against the warmth of his skin. I didn't want to be angry with him anymore. I was too tired.

"I love you more than anyone else could."

I lowered my eyelids, stroking him in the way I knew would reassure him, slowly in circular motions, letting the pads of my fingertips glide over his skin while my palm kneaded gently.

"I've loved you for so long, Kyle." His eyes were wide and frantic, and I was scared he wouldn't calm down. "I've loved you since forever. I need you, and no one else. You're perfect, so of course I don't need to love anyone else. You're perfect and beautiful, and no one else deserves to see you like this but me. No one else can hurt you, or love you, or possess you. I won't let it happen."

It was overwhelming.

I sunk the battleship of panic sailing in my chest and pulled Eric's head down. I kissed him, feeling bitter as our lips met. He pulled me up to stand, wrapping his arms around me to crush us together. His hot tongue slid past my lips and I accepted him because I was reluctant to push away.

* * *

><p>Kyle gasped a soft, throaty sound. Hot, humid breath ghosted past his lips, the air in the small room congregating to form a musky thickness.<p>

The blinds were drawn shut, white light from the window stealing underneath a small gap. The room was dim except where that small sliver of silver light shone on the dull green carpet.

The air was so humid.

Kyle's naked, pink skin was slippery with hot sweat, his hair plastered to his forehead with the dampness. He arched his back, feeling the rough cheap linen of the bed against smooth skin. Teeth gritted, eyes glassy and smoldering, he met Eric's gaze, a deep moan trembling from the back of his throat.

Eric knelt over Kyle, pale smooth legs wrapped around his waist. He grunted, his hands slick from the heat as he grasped the pale skin of Kyle's firm thighs in his palms

Kyle groaned again, head thrashing back onto the mattress, finger nails digging into the bed covers as Eric pulled back and drove forward in a sharp thrust. Kyle's biceps flexed, stretching his skin, revealing pale violet veins underneath the snowy softness. His abdomen muscles clenched, body arched above the damp mattress.

Eric wrapped his hands around Kyle's narrow hips, lifting him up, pushing pale legs back farther. His round belly filled with a hot, liquid sensation as he watched Kyle, so handsome and strong, submitting underneath his touch, full pink lips parted in ecstasy, green eyes cloudy and sensual.

The room was filled with the sound of grunting, moaning, the bed springs creaking underneath their movements.

Kyle once again experienced the invasion, a place where only Eric could touch. It filled him, the tightness so foreign, stretching his skin open. The familiar whispers of sin and wickedness slithered in his ears, and visions of fire and brimstone raining upon a city of hedonism and corruption filled a dark place restrained in his mind.

His abdomen filled with scorching desire, sensations running across his skin like tongues of the Devil, hot like flame, leaving liquid trails of black hunger that seemed to coat him like oil.

It felt sinful.

* * *

><p>The months following that particular New Year felt odd to me.<p>

Subtly, our dynamic changed.

Eric seemed more affectionate and placating toward me, although I only started noticing in April when he deliberately stopped by my workplace to give me a tall cup of warm chai, something he almost never did. I was used to making the first move by then, so you can imagine my surprise when he practically materialized from behind an aisle of art supplies, smirking at me with a cupful of hot milk tea in his hands.

On the other hand, I felt distant. At first, I attributed it to school work and the stress of pushing myself to do my best.

In my first year of university, I spent most of my school days at the dorms, which really didn't come cheap. On the weekends, I would drive up to South Park and spend time with my family, so at least I saw them every week. After I moved in with Eric, their absence felt more tangible, and I guess it really got to me. The very thought of my dad, my mom, and my brother always got me choked up.

My parents had enough confidence and faith in me, so much so that they let me live miles away to pursue my education, even going so far as to pay the lease of the apartment as a parting gift. The fear of somehow disappointing them weighed heavy at the back of my mind, especially since I was carrying on a clandestine homosexual relationship with a guy—Eric Cartman at that.

My changes were subtle and slow.

One evening in April, I was quietly conversing with my dad over my phone, politely answering his questions about school. Eric came up from behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist, pulling me to him. I stiffened, my body involuntarily growing rigid. I felt Eric kiss my cheek, then the back of my neck. His warm lips felt cold again my skin.

I jerked away from him, my heart pounding. Icy blood rushed to my fingers, leaving them feeling cold and dead.

I could feel the alarm in my own eyes as I flashed Eric a look of warning.

He looked hurt, but simply scoffed and stomped away.

It took my heart minutes to calm down, and I couldn't help the shakiness that came over my voice as I spoke to my dad.

"Is everything okay, Kyle?" he asked. "You don't sound too good, son." The warmth in his tone seeped into my chest. The grave weight of shame pulled down on my spirit, and I squeezed my eyes shut.

"I-I'm fine, dad. I just miss being home, that's all."

"I see. Well, once you're done school, you and Eric should come over here for vacation." My dad sounded so happy and proud. "You've probably been working too hard, Kyle. Take a break. I know everyone will be glad to see you home again, your mother especially. She misses you so much."

My throat tightened, and I was afraid I wouldn't be able to speak. Thoughts of upcoming finals wracked at my brain, along with other heavy feelings I didn't want to think about.

"H-How is mom doing by the way? And Ike. Yeah, how are they doing?"

"Ike's doing great. Still on the honor roll, as a matter of fact. Although he doesn't seem too happy when your mother babies him—but that might just be because you're gone, and Sheila feels the need to mother Ike twice as much."

The thought of mom, dad, and Ike left a heavy feeling in my chest. I really did miss them after spending half a year away from home.

In my spare time, all I did was study. I was becoming aware of the increasing anxiety that built up at the back of my mind. My temper shortened drastically. I always felt tired and restless, and no amount of relaxation ever seemed to give me back my strength.

It was a miracle I passed my finals and finished my second year of university with a cumulative GPA of 3.8; the unease that grew inside me seemed to disappear for the time being as I finally took it easy, content with the knowledge that I had three months off of school, three months that I planned on spending with my family and friends back home.

I told Eric that I wanted to go back to South Park one Sunday evening over dinner. We were on the couch, watching the news. He didn't seem too surprised, but nor was he thrilled. I knew Eric resented South Park, more so than any of us who grew up there, probably because he thought he was superior to everybody.

"Do we have to go, Kyle?" he asked me.

"Yes. I haven't seen my family in forever. Besides, Stan and Kenny want to see us."

"You mean they want to see _you_. Well, whatever. Screw those assholes. We're doing fine here."

"I _miss_ everyone, Eric. Besides, it's only going to be for a couple of weeks. You can even stay at my place if you want."

"_Pft_, yeah, like your mom is going to let that fly."

"Dude, she knows that we've been living together for the past ten months, and I haven't exactly been complaining to her. It's going to be fine."

"Then maybe you should go. I'll stay here."

"But … it's going to be summer soon. I don't want to spend it apart."

The softness in my voice appealed to the side of Eric that adored me completely. He appeared to have some sort of internal struggle before sighing noisily through his nose, muttering, "Stupid little … fine. Whatever. We'll go whenever you want."

At that time, I was completely unaware of the fact that during my exam preparations (which lasted over three months before May) I'd been neglecting to spend time with Eric. So I took his further need of me as a sign of affection and didn't bother to question it.

Before our trip to South Park, Eric always hugged me tight, held my hand, and cuddled with me, unusual habits even for him. I could sense that he felt the need to always be near me, and I couldn't complain. I liked it when he was near me. He would do things like cook my favorite meals, massage and kiss me on the rare occasion when we bathed together, and he seemed to crave sexual intimacy with me. We had sex often (or what I assume to be "often"), which was a drastic improvement from when he drew back from physical intimacy only a few months before.

Prior to Eric, I had sex three times, all of them with girls. Needless to say, my continual intimacies with Eric felt foreign, especially given the fact that he always topped. He knew more about gay sex than I did, which surprised me, but it turned out to be for the best since I had no clue how to go about doing it with a guy anyway.

The first time came as a shock. I almost backed out, but the sight of Eric aroused and desperate for me eased the surprise. The experience wasn't bad. I just wasn't used to it.

Every other time after our first, I knew what to expect, but that didn't seem to detract from the recurring feeling of alien sensations. I enjoyed it, hell yeah, but a persistent nagging thought at the back of my mind killed the euphoria for me: What if Stan finds out? What if dad finds out? What does this make me?

I knew I wasn't gay. I loved Eric, but only him. I wasn't attracted to other guys at all, but almost a year after I told Eric I loved him, I was still as confused as ever. So I developed a bad habit of pushing the thoughts away, and every time Eric brought it up, I became conscious of how defensive I'd get. It wasn't healthy, but I never wanted to talk about the subject, always telling myself: "You'll sort it out eventually, so there's no need to make such a big deal."

So what if I liked having sex with Eric, even if I was always at the bottom? We both preferred it that way, and we were doing just fine.

I always told myself that.

Three days after I told Eric about going home, we drove down to South Park. The drive there would take about three hours from where we lived, but we decided to stop halfway at a picturesque Bed & Breakfast, spending time alone for my nineteenth birthday.

* * *

><p>Kyle stepped up to the wooden porch, his boots echoing in the open country space.<p>

The cottage was a ways off from the city, just on the outskirts of Denver. It was one among five in an open park filled with orchards and gardens. It was quiet, and breezy, the warm sunlight reflecting off the green grass, filtering through the branches of trees.

Kyle inhaled deeply, smiling as he appreciated the clean air. Eric followed behind him, slinging a backpack across his shoulder.

"Cabin 3," Eric muttered, pulling out the keys they received while checking in. He opened the wooden door, hearing it creak as it swung open.

Kyle nodded, standing beside Eric as they entered. Flicking the light switch on, Kyle observed humble furnishings within the cabin. Wooden couches upholstered with soft, scarlet cushions surrounded a wooden coffee table in front of a stone fireplace. The entire cabin seemed to be made and furnished with wood, except a few modern appliances such as an electric stove, a microwave, and a dishwasher. The earthy scent of oak and pine seemed to cling to the interior of the space.

Kyle set down his duffel bag against a coat rack, stepping into the living room. He took in his surroundings, before silent footsteps against the floorboards crept up to him.

Eric's arms encircled Kyle's waist, and the two boys were still for a moment.

Kyle slowly glanced over his shoulder, catching Eric's scent of cinnamon and paprika. Their eyes met for a lingering moment, until Kyle revealed a glimmer of understanding in his turquoise-green irises. Grasping Eric's fingers in his, he gently unraveled himself from their embrace and strode to the door of the cabin.

Upon closing it, he turned to look back at Eric, their fingers still intertwined.

Kyle let out a noisy breath, shattering the silence. He looked up at Eric, noting the hushed expectancy in the other boy's expression.

"I never did say happy birthday to you, Kyle," Eric muttered, hazel eyes focused solely on Kyle's face. His fingers were warm against Kyle's palm.

Kyle shifted, a little embarrassed. "You don't really have to. I mean, we did take this trip and everything—it's cool, dude. You don't have to—"

Eric took a swift step toward Kyle and in less than a second his hands were cupping Kyle's cheeks, the touch of his skin gentle and warm, his lips coaxing and soft. Kyle groaned, letting go of Eric's hand to smooth his palms over the other's boy's back.

Kyle felt the warmth between their bodies. He didn't hesitate to move closer, pressing his palms firmly against Eric's back.

Their kiss was prolonged by the stillness of their hands and the chastity of their lips.

Kyle pulled away gently, his lips not quite leaving Eric's. Their noses rested against each other as Kyle softly whispered, "This is enough. I'm happy." A smile crept up on his lips, as if he wasn't entirely aware of his own joy. Kyle's turquoise-green eyes opened slowly, meeting Eric's gaze.

"Is it really enough, Kyle?" Eric's voice came out slow and unsure.

"More than enough, dude. In fact, we can stay here for more than a day or two."

"That's not what I meant, Jew-boy."

Kyle blinked. He pulled back from Eric's arms. He seemed surprised to hear the hard edge in the other's voice.

"What _did_ you mean?"

"We've been together for almost a year, Kyle, and you still haven't told anyone about us."

"Yeah, but .."

"And recently, you've been pushing me away. Don't think I haven't noticed."

Kyle bit his lips, guilt evident in his downcast eyes. "I was stressed from exams, okay? I didn't mean to take it out on you." Breathing in heavily, he continued, avoiding Eric's eyes. "As to telling everyone about us … Eric, I love you. But I'm not ready for the repercussions, at least not yet. Give me more time." Reaching out, Kyle took Eric's hand, intertwining their fingers. He finally made eye contact, taking in the uncertainty of Eric's visage. "You know how everyone will react. I don't like thinking about the strain it'll put on us. Maybe we'll just let on slowly, alright? Just a little bit at a time, maybe then it'll be easier."

A moment of stillness passed, wherein Kyle waited patiently for a reply. He circled the pad of his thumb against Eric's hand and waited.

"If you say so, Kyle."

"Thanks, Eric. I love you."

"I love you, too, you dumb Jew."

* * *

><p>The cabin was blanketed in darkness as the late night settled in.<p>

A lone lamp glowed weakly from a wooden bedside table. Its dull orange glow made the thin layer of sweat on Eric's body glimmer in the darkness.

Eric was reclined against a mountain of white pillows on the bed. His face was taut, knotted with the euphoria of lust. His thick fingers lost their way in a head of silken red curls that tickled his abdomen. Eric's eyelids slid open lazily. He stared down at Kyle, watching with misty desire as full pink lips wrapped him up with sensations of unbelievable heat and wet velvet.

Kyle's breathtaking green eyes glanced up at Eric, hazy and delirious.

Eric felt his stomach tighten as a pulsation vibrated underneath his skin. His lips parted and a lurid groan erupted from his chest.

A wet noise resonated from in between his thighs as Kyle's hot mouth parted with Eric's skin, tongue lingering.

Eric grunted, nudging Kyle backward as he sat up. Kyle complied, settling himself on the downy sheets, parting his legs as Eric moved to straddle him. He took a firm hold of Kyle's ankles, pushing them back, watching as Kyle's hips lifted off the bed.

A piercing sound of agonized ecstasy came rolling off Kyle's tongue, his head thrown back. The sensation of Eric's wet tongue pressed against his most innocent flesh sent throbbing swells of blinding pleasure up his spine. His thighs quivered. The snowy linen underneath him whispered as his fingers gripped the rumpled sheets.

The familiarity of invasion sent electric prickles jumping against Kyle's skin. He watched as Eric's deft fingers played against him, aware of the noises emerging from his own throat. Any degree of thought was wiped clean from his mind.

Kyle closed his eyes as he felt Eric kneel against the mattress, poised against his taut opening.

The rough pounding inside his body sent Kyle over the edge. He paid no heed to the rising volume of his voice, his mind conquered with carnal lust. He felt his muscles tightening, his abdomen filled with fiery fluid that seemed to ignite and intensify every thrust into that forbidden entrance.

Their shadows moved in hazy silhouettes against the orange glow of the bedside lamp.

Kyle writhed, stomach muscles clenching as he watched Eric sodomize him.

He took his lip in between his teeth as fire scorched his skin, and instead of fear he felt shameless want.

* * *

><p>The sun filtered through the rustling leaves. Kyle and Eric walked side by side, taking time to explore the scenery near their cabin. The green grass muffled their footsteps, echoing the hushed tones in which they spoke to each other.<p>

Kyle emitted an atmosphere of warmth. Eric smiled unconsciously.

They both continued their trek through the woods, coming across a worn path in the grass that seemed to lead into denser woodland. The bright greens and earthy browns of their surroundings lent an enchanting whisper to the breeze that rustled against the foliage, making the forest come alive with hushed noise.

As the heavier cluster of branches and leaves from above dimmed the sunlight, Kyle spotted a familiar object not too far along the path.

"Hey, look. It's a well."

The well rose from the ground like the middle of a plump scaly serpent. It stood dead in the middle of a clearing, surrounded by crisp, crumbling leaves despite the summer season.

They approached leisurely, and upon drawing closer observed the green-brown moss that caked the black stones of the well. It rose about a meter from the ground, and lacked any wooden beams or pulleys that would have been used to lower a bucket down the cool shaft.

Eric peered over the edge of the round stones, staring down the well. "Holy crap, that's deep. You can't even see the bottom."

Kyle frowned, glancing down at the seemingly endless chasm.

A snicker caught Kyle's attention. He looked up to see Eric bending down to pick up a small rock from the ground. Catching on, Kyle watched as Eric's arm hovered over the opening of the well. His fingers let loose the rock, and both looked on as the small object took a silent dive down the black abyss.

Their eyes never left the black circle that led to the bottom of the well. After a minute of absolute silence, Eric looked up at Kyle, a look of mild astonishment gracing his features.

"Dude, maybe the rock just wasn't big enough," Kyle muttered, placing his fingers over the cold stone, peering over the well's edge.

"Yeah, maybe. I'll go find a bigger one. Shit, that thing must be really deep …"

As Eric shuffled off in search of a larger rock, Kyle continued to look down the well. Curious, he observed the rustling of the wind around him. Down the well, however, all sound seemed to be drowned out.

"ERIC CARTMAN IS A SEX GOD."

Eric burst out laughing from a few meters away as Kyle grinned. He listened for the echo of his voice but heard none.

"Well, well, the truth comes out." Eric came back, smirking. He carried with him a large rock the size of his fist.

Kyle shrugged, unable to keep a grin off his own lips. "I was just checking to see if there would be an echo, so I yelled out the first thing that popped into my head."

The two shared a lingering glance and laughed.

Eric held the large rock above the well's opening. "Here goes nothing."

He dropped it.

The rock was swallowed by the darkness almost instantaneously.

They waited six beats.

The well remained silent.

Kyle frowned.

A sudden stillness seemed to come over the trees as the breeze stopped blowing. The clearing dimmed as a large cloud hovered in the sky. The absence of the breeze turned the forest ominously quiet.

"Dude," Kyle whispered. The wavering look in his green eyes conveyed the need to be silent. "Maybe you shouldn't have done that."

Eric shrugged, but the downturn of his lips made him look a little spooked. "Whatever, Jew. Let's just head back. This forest is starting to give me the creeps."

* * *

><p>That same afternoon, Eric and Kyle decided to continue their journey to South Park.<p>

The drive took an hour and a half.

* * *

><p>I felt nervous as I drove past the wooden sign of South Park. Everything looked the same as always, and I felt foreign and changed in comparison. It was emotionally confusing to be there, and it felt like I didn't prepare for it enough. Eric seemed to understand; he put his hand on my shoulder as we entered the residential area. The gesture was comforting but didn't calm down the butterflies fluttering like crazy in my stomach.<p>

The familiar sight of my house came into view. It was only slightly but noticeable larger than the rest along the street, and consisted of dark stone instead of synthetic siding.

God. It felt _that_ strange to be back, that I suddenly started taking interest in the components of my house.

I pulled up the driveway and turned off the engine. Eric and I sat in the car for a while, simply staring up at my house with a complete lack of movement. Then Eric coughed—one of those really awkward coughs—and turned to look at me.

"I thought you _wanted_ to come back, Kyle."

I didn't fail to miss the patronizing undertone of his voice.

"I did—I _do_. I'm just … taking a moment to compose myself."

"Okay, Kyle. Although, I really think that trying to rip off the steering wheel isn't going to relax you one bit."

"Shut up, fat ass. I'm thinking."

"Well, enough thinking, Jew. I'm pretty sure they've heard the car, and your mom is probably starting to wonder what's taking you so long."

The mere mention of my mother sent all my blood rushing into a black hole. It all seemed to disappear, leaving my body with a cold sensation.

Numbly, I pushed all my anxious thoughts away from the forefront of my mind and opened my car door. Eric followed suit as I walked towards the trunk of the car. Opening it, I pulled out our luggage. I breathed a deep sigh. Hastily, Eric grabbed my hand and looked me in the eye. A moment passed where he seemed to be giving me some kind of reassurance, then let go of his warm hold on me.

I was glad he did, although his touch comforted me.

We made our way up to my doorstep.

I rang the doorbell and not three seconds passed before voices and footsteps seemed to erupt from within. The door swung open, far too fast for me to be ready.

I found myself staring down into my mother's overjoyed face. She was a foot shorter than me now, and that meager fact sent a rush of emotion into my chest.

"Bubby!"

It vaguely occurred to me that I really was back home as a rush of movement found my mom's arms wrapped tightly around my neck. I stooped down, suppressing a smile, hugging my mom back. Voices from inside the house caught my attention, and I lifted my eyes to take in the sight of my dad, Ike, Stan, and Kenny approaching from the living room.

I wrapped an arm around my mom's shoulders as we ventured inside, shutting the door behind us. I can't even remember who said what; everyone was talking all at once, and I felt so overwhelmed, and I could actually smell the clean, scented candle smell of my house, I'd been away for so long.

Once I set down my bag beside the couch, I caught Stan's eye.

He stood not too far away with Kenny, and he had this wide grin on his face.

I grinned back.

As if on cue, we approached each other at the same time. He was the only one who had yet to utter a "Welcome back," but I don't think I cared much about that.

We met each other halfway. Stan pulled me into a bone-crushing hug. I wrapped my arms around him just as tight and couldn't help the ecstatic smile that nearly split my face in two.

"Good to have you back, Kyle," Stan said, drawing back to look at me. His face looked so bright and giddy, and instinctually I knew that if there was one thing about me that wouldn't change, it would be my friendship with Stan.

* * *

><p>After dinner that evening, the guys and I hung out in my backyard. We sat around on the outdoor settees, holding steaming mugs of hot coco. It was an exceptionally cool night for May.<p>

"I'm surprised you two haven't killed each other yet," Kenny commented, glancing between me and Eric. "The whole town—in a fit of absolute retardation, let me tell you—started this whole betting pool on how long you and Eric would last underneath the same roof."

I snorted, while Eric muttered darkly, "Fucking assholes."

"You better not have put money in there, Kenny," I murmured, glaring at him.

Kenny shrugged. "I did."

"Ah, for the love of God—how much did you lose?"

"The fuck, Kyle? Why do you assume I lost the bet?"

Stan frowned at Kenny, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

I felt my brows furrow, my gaze flitting in between Stan and Kenny. "So if you didn't lose the bet, then how long did you say we would last?" For some reason, I felt the nagging urge to know.

Kenny stared at me for a moment longer than necessary, then said in a completely cavalier manner: "I bet a hundred bucks that you and Eric would get married one day and adopt a cute little girl and name her Sarah."

The full extent of Kenny's paranoia-inducing comment registered only after Stan started hacking and choking on his hot coco. I stared as he spat the dark brown liquid all over the wooden terrace, then glanced up at Kenny with what I hoped was a sufficiently convincing expression of annoyance.

To my internal horror, Eric didn't even seem to be bothered by it at all, and appeared to be in a contemplative state.

"I wouldn't name our daughter Sarah." Eric stated matter-of-factly, much to Kenny's amusement. "If Kyle and I had a daughter, she'd be named Sophie."

"Kenny was fucking _joking_, Cartman," I ground out. "Weren't you, Kenny?"

Kenny burst out laughing. "Actually, Kyle, no. No, I'm not. That was an actual bet made with actual money."

Kenny found it hilarious. Eric, God knows _why_, seemed to have taken the newfound information in an aspirational light. The only normal reaction seemed to be Stan's shaken discomfort. Even I wasn't reacting to it like I normally would have. If I wasn't actually in a relationship with Eric and if I wasn't practically living common-law with him, then, yeah, maybe I would have reacted with a bit more grace, or at least genuine Kyle-irritation.

The cold pit at the bottom of my stomach prevented me from saying any more and I clammed up rather fast.

I guess Kenny just assumed that his comment irritated me because he started a sudden conversation with Eric, and I was only more than happy to chug down my hot coco and retire early for the evening.

* * *

><p>Stan and I decided to go fishing one day.<p>

It was an early and chilly morning, but neither of us minded.

We drove out to the nearest lake, about thirty minutes away from South Park.

I don't know how I worked up the courage to say what I said—actually, calling it "courage" would be inaccurate. My mind was strangely devoid of any turmoil. Ominously silent.

As we floated in the middle of a misty lake surrounded by pine at the shore, I spoke quietly, and I can't remember how exactly I felt, except that my hands were really cold.

Stan looked at me with wide eyes. He seemed to think that I'd gone completely insane.

"Dude, I owe you honesty—at least that much, right? So … please don't react badly, Stan. You're like my brother, so … this is a really big deal for me, and I'd appreciate it if you supported me, even if you don't really like the idea …"

My voice was shaky, and I couldn't look Stan directly in the eye. I felt like a coward.

Stan was silent for a long moment.

"Kyle … are you gay?"

I shook my head. "No, I'm not, Stan. It's just—with him it's different. It's hard to explain, okay?"

"Almost a year now … you kept it from me for that long."

"Dude, I'm _sorry_. I'm really sorry. I waited for the right opportunity, but it never seemed to come. Hell, I don't even know if right now is the right time. Besides … I was worried about how you'd react …"

"Well, how the _hell _am I supposed to react, Kyle? Except to tell you that maybe you've gone completely insane."

That stung.

"Stan, we're good together. It's hard to explain, but we are. We don't fight like we used to, and he actually cares about me—"

"How do you know it's real, Kyle?"

I looked up, hurt. Stan's tone was hard and pragmatic, and I couldn't bear it. I didn't know what I was expecting from him, not really, but I couldn't help but hope that maybe he'd understand.

"He won't hurt me, Stan."

"How are you so sure, Kyle? Jesus Christ, see, that's the problem with you sometimes. You trust people too much, then you get hurt. You know, not _everyone_ can be trusted, Kyle. Just because Cartman's nice to you all of a sudden doesn't mean—"

"He wasn't just nice to me 'all of a sudden.'" I felt my vocal chords tense, and I kept my temper at bay. The last thing I wanted was to start fighting with Stan. "We actually got along years before Cartman became my—"

"_Jesus_ Christ."

"—so don't tell me how to feel about it, Stan. I'm capable of handling myself." I paused, pressing my lips together. Softening my tone, I continued gently, "Look, I appreciate your concern, I really do. I'm glad you care. But this makes me happy, and shouldn't that count for something? I've never been in a relationship for this long, and neither has Cartman. We've been living together for over ten months now, and it's been going great." I couldn't keep the tinge of happiness from leaking into my voice. "Please, Stan. You're the first person I've told, and it means a lot to me to have someone to go to about this, especially since it's _you_. I really need your support."

Stan frowned at me, his expression vague. His blue eyes looked like they were a million miles away, in a land of thought that no other human being was privy to.

After a long moment of silence, he whispered, just loud enough for me to hear: "Why him?"

I debated with myself whether or not to be honest. "You want the truth, Stan?"

"Of course."

"He needs me."

Stan's frown deepened. I continued immediately.

"Cartman—Eric needs me. I've never had anyone need me the way he does. That kinda got me thinking: maybe I need him, too. And I do. I do need him, Stan. I've never wanted to give up on him, and it's not just about right and wrong to me. I care more than enough about Eric to put myself on the line just so he can get a second chance—screw the fact that we used to hate each other. If me and Eric don't have hang ups about the past, then I don't see why other people should care either."

Stan seemed astonished by the sudden manifestation of strength in my words.

I stared him dead in the eye, fuelled by conviction. Silently, I challenged Stan—with what exactly, I can't really recall.

Another lull of silence lingered in the misty air. Stan apparently wanted his thoughts to marinate for a while since nothing else about my relationship was said that day.

* * *

><p>I was playing catch with Ike in the park one afternoon when Eric joined us.<p>

It happened casually, and we tossed the baseball around between the three of us.

As the light from the sun dimmed, lending a softer glow to the scenery of South Park, all three of us decided to get dinner somewhere. Ike walked in between me and Eric, and nothing was out of place as we made our way to a diner—the one where Eric and I went the summer before.

We sat at a booth in the back, and we talked about was how Ike wanted to move in with me.

I didn't take it too seriously. I told him he could visit, but he sure as hell wasn't moving in. Mom had enough hang ups about me being away, but if her precious baby came under the custody of his barely-legal older brother—that was just one responsibility I could do without.

Ike seemed disappointed, but kept on talking anyway about how it would be better than staying in South Park.

While I nodded and muttered something in response, Eric struck up a conversation with Ike about how most of the people in South Park were static retards anyway, and he said something about how any feelings of arson toward the entire county were completely justified.

I raised an eyebrow at him. Ike seemed to notice Eric for the first time that evening. He was slow about his reply, as if unsure about the existence of this stranger in our usually exclusive brother time.

"Yeah, I'd set fire to the town, except, you know, my mom wouldn't be very happy about that."

It was a general statement—safe.

Eric stared at Ike, taking a sip from his chocolate milkshake. "And hypothetically, if your mother wasn't Sheila Broflovski, would you follow through with that?"

Ike tilted his head slightly. He still found Eric's presence alien. "Well, maybe not burn it all down to the ground. I'd just run for governor and enact a common sense mandate. Given how fucking gullible most people are, I wouldn't be surprised if I got elected at thirteen."

A genuine spark of interest flickered in Eric's hazel eyes. He hummed in his throat. "Ike Broflovski, Governor of Colorado. Huh. Not bad. Not bad at all."

I didn't know whether to be concerned or relieved once Eric and Ike started planning a theoretical political campaign.

* * *

><p>Dinner at my house consistently remained awkward until Eric and Ike started to get along.<p>

One evening, Ike brought up an essay contest that was always going on every year at his school. The deadline was in the middle of June, and he wanted Eric's opinion about his paper.

I gave Eric a sharp look from across the table. He momentarily met my gaze then turned to Ike, who waited patiently for his reply.

The next ten minutes of that evening continue to baffle me until this day. I mean, I knew how Eric could turn up the charm and wit if he really needed to. But God_damn_ did he charm my mother. Made a really good show of it, too.

He talked to Ike about the main perspectives surrounding peacekeeping, both liberal and conservative, and how the United Nations enacted several missions to that extent, and whether they were successful or not was up to debate. Eric then went on about "upholding a reputable image" and the "harsh truth of reality," then said something about "civic duty," and quite frankly I got lost along the way, then found myself back somewhere between "resonance of history" and "conceding to the faults of imperialism."

I'm pretty sure everyone but Ike reacted quite ungraciously shocked toward Eric's sudden burst of knowledge. I always knew he could be sly and sharp, but most of the time, he acted like a self-centred retard, so it was really no surprise that I dropped my fork three times within those ten minutes.

As Eric spoke, he made a great show of looking only at Ike, as if he didn't know that the rest of the table was subject to hearing his extensive speech. So naturally, my mother got the impression that Eric was being humble and helpful.

She told Ike to thank Eric for taking the time to answer his questions.

Ike complied and I breathed a sigh of relief.

* * *

><p>I bought Eric a cat for his birthday, a little surprise that I planned two months in advance.<p>

The kitten was small and fluffy, with white fur and an orange patch over its blue eyes. Eric decided to name her Sophie. He kept joking that she was our adopted daughter.

* * *

><p>We spent our anniversary at Eric's house, since his mom was away for the night.<p>

I felt relieved, since we hadn't been intimate in two months. Eric was too, judging by the desperate way he kissed me and made love to me.

We fell asleep at six in the morning, just as I caught a glimmer of sunshine from Eric's bedroom window.

* * *

><p>The last week of August found me, Stan, Eric, and Kenny down at Stark's Pond. Someone was throwing a bonfire party—no one really cared who, but everyone was invited.<p>

I arrived a little later than the guys, and spotted Eric and Stan talking by the trees, an area which wasn't completely swarming with people. They both looked solemn—Eric was especially tense. A sinking feeling ate away at the hollow of my gut. I pushed past the crowd, anxious to get to them. Stan and I never brought up the subject of my relationship in the time we spent together. In fact, Stan seemed to find it convenient to pretend that I never told him—which suited me just fine, since I really didn't know what to say.

By the time I was halfway there, I saw Stan walking away, hands in his jeans pockets. He caught sight of me and approached.

I furrowed my brow at him. "Stan, what were you and Cartman talking about?"

"Kyle, I still find it really fucking weird how you're dating Cartman," Stan mumbled, choosing to ignore my question. "Like … really fucking weird. You seemed so into girls and—You know what, whatever. You're the only brother I have in this world—"

I grinned.

"—and even if this whole thing is seriously fucked up, well, I guess what you said made a little sense. If anyone should keep a leash around Cartman, it should be you."

I chuckled nervously. "What, does this mean you're giving me the 'okay'?"

Stan pinched the bridge of his nose. "Ah, _Kyle_—I'm still trying to process the level of holy shit this currently stands on. But, yeah, I guess I'm giving you the okay. God knows this isn't the weirdest thing that's ever happened here."

I laughed, placing a reassuring hand on Stan's shoulder. "I guess Kenny might still win that bet after all."

I left him to stand there baffled and disturbed. Pushing past more people, the crowd thinned out toward the trees where Eric stood waiting for me.

He seemed both emotionally confused and relieved.

When I asked him what was wrong, he simply said: "I believe I just got the 'best friend' talk."

* * *

><p>I left South Park with good memories.<p>

My third year of university was starting to look good.

* * *

><p><em>Fade in from black.<em>

_A dark bedchamber is lit with golden candles. The gauzy viper green curtains of the barred windows sway gently in the night breeze._

_Chained to the large bed is a naked figure, delirious from the blue-grey smoke permeating the air._

_His unnaturally poison blue eyes stare into the darkness of the room, waiting._

_Fade out to white._

* * *

><p>As soon as we left South Park, I felt a sense of detachment coming over me.<p>

The first week of classes had me irrationally irritated, and I always came home to Eric a petulant wreck. He didn't seem to mind at first, but then began pushing me to calm down and skip class for a day to relax. I snapped at him and said I couldn't afford to miss any lectures. He simply gave me the silent treatment after that, which didn't bother me as much as it should have.

It wasn't as if I felt stressed about classes or work. I was doing just fine. I can't pinpoint why exactly I started to act out, but I can remember always feeling an abnormal, nagging buzz in the back of my mind, and it never seemed to go away.

I knew that the feelings weren't entirely mine, but I decided not to pay attention to them. Thinking about it made me nauseous. I figured that if I waited it out, the problem would go away.

I pushed the emotions so far in the back of my mind that only time could tell me just how bad the problem had grown. The months passed by in a blur, mostly because I never paid attention to how I was neglecting to love the person who cared for me most.

In a matter of months, Eric and I hardly spoke, we hardly touched, and by December, I couldn't remember the last time we kissed. It was awful, but there was a chain of resilient apathy that seemed to restrain me from any feeling of responsibility. I _knew_ I was letting it all fall apart, and God only knew why, but the sensations were entirely foreign to me.

I think it started with one little thing. During an early fall morning, I woke up to Eric sidling up next to me on our bed. I blinked bleary eyes as he whispered, "Kyle, tell me you won't leave."

In my sleep-hazy state of mind, the feeling of doubt easily crept past my defenses. I mumbled noncommittally, "Cartman, you know what my answer is," then went back to sleep.

There came a point when school and work, no matter how unimportant my studies were to me by that time, would solely occupy my thoughts. It was obsessive behaviour and I somehow failed to realize the sickliness of my mentality. I would finish a day of work and end up riding the bus home. The thought of Eric waiting for me at the apartment would surprise me, as if I wasn't aware of our relationship.

I didn't talk to him as much, and when I did, it was about something irrelevant. The dishes, the garbage, did he vacuum the carpet recently? I didn't realize how monotone I was becoming—as if I was starting to lose every feeling of love I had for him, and it was out of my control—it seemed so unnatural.

That's what it was. Unnatural. Otherworldly.

Eric fought it valiantly. He would attempt to romance me, bringing up moments in the past when our life together was golden and promising. It never seemed to work on me, and I had to wonder why. I always shrugged it off and focused on my work. Work was becoming an excuse of grey-area morality.

I wasn't acting like myself. Those words, the lack of action, it wasn't me.

I knew I loved Eric, but I didn't know it as a feeling of passion; I knew it instead as a matter of fact and obligation.

I realized that on one December day, the first time I ignored Eric's invitation out to lunch. On that very same day, I let the first conscious doubts slip into my thoughts.

* * *

><p>Kyle left the library at three-thirty, managing to catch a bus to work five minutes later. He had a shift until eight.<p>

He stood on the bus, holding onto a metal bar for balance. His hands felt cold, but he made no movement to warm them.

Staring blankly out at the busy streets, Kyle's eyes almost seemed blue in the white light of winter.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, but he made no move to answer it.

* * *

><p>"<em>Maybe Eric isn't the one for me."<em>

"_Maybe I can love someone else the way I love him."_

"_I really don't think we'll last forever. I mean, that fairy tale stuff doesn't happen for anybody, least of all for people like us. At some point, we're gonna have to move on."_

* * *

><p>As the bus slowed to a halt, Kyle got off at his stop. Once the bus sped down the street, he was left alone on the snow-covered sidewalk.<p>

* * *

><p>From the bus stop, the art store was a couple of meters down the street. I turned to start walking, but bumped into someone.<p>

Despite the bitter cold of the winter air, I caught a whiff of pine and maple.

Looking down, I realized that someone shorter walked straight into me.

The top of his head was covered in wavy black hair.

Muttering my apologies, I made a motion to step aside and let him pass. That was before he looked up at me, straight into my eyes.

His eyes were moss green, vibrant against his impish features. Set in the middle of his rosy face was a small pointed nose and beneath were Cupid's bow lips. His green eyes were slightly slanted, like an elf. He looked up at me with an expression of pure rapture. The scent of pine and maple rushed into my head, filling me with hazy longing.

We stood toe to toe for a moment that lasted far too long, yet passed by far too quickly. I was aware that all I did was look into his eyes with blatant adoration that I only felt once before for someone else.

I muttered one final hasty apology and strode away as fast as possible, overwhelmed and shaken, feeling a rush of familiar warmth in my veins that had been absent for far too long. My brain was suspiciously absent of any moral objections.

One glimpse at that boy told me I wanted him. One glimpse in his enchanted eyes whispered into the seat of my soul that I had to commit adultery.


	3. Part III: Faith

_This chapter is Rated NC-17 for disturbing imagery and explicit content. Discretion is advised._

* * *

><p>Infidelity, Part III: Faith<p>

* * *

><p>The seed of doubt spreads fast and silent, coursing through the veins of your spirit. It invades your senses, takes a hold of you and manages to corrupt your mind without stirring your conscience. Like a mist, it creeps up on your household in the middle of the night, filling every crevice with its toxic, odorless fumes.<p>

Before you know it, you have been tempted. You realize how sickly, pale, and weak your mind has become. Before you realize you have a weakness, it is exploited.

It all starts with the seed of doubt; one very small thought has the power to bring a man to his knees.

* * *

><p>I can't remember going to work that day.<p>

His eyes. There was something unearthly about the vibrant mossy hue in his iridescent irises.

The funny thing is, I found him beautiful. I felt _compelled_ to find him beautiful. Every inch of that dark-haired boy embodied an ethereal brand of perfection, the kind possessed by towering, snowy peaked mountains and powerful raging, icy rivers. Crystal clear, sharp, and cold. Lethal.

In the ten seconds I gazed at the dark-haired boy's elf-like face, I garnered knowledge that forced itself past the unwilling borders of my consciousness: he was beautiful. His beauty radiated danger. Perfection of that power was not something to be tampered with.

That was the instinctual warning at the forefront of my mind. There was no clear reason behind it. The sensation of danger and awe was pure instinct. This was an entity not meant to be touched.

But as I turned to walk away, an invasion filled my veins and I couldn't pinpoint the source of the flow. It felt hot and choking and I couldn't prevent the subsequent surge of longing that filled me as deep as the seat of my soul.

Temptation.

The next thing I remember was getting on a random city bus. I sat down at a seat and pressed my forehead up against the cool glass of a window.

I didn't know what came over me. The magnetic pull I felt for that boy was dangerous. It appealed to an inner weakness, a weakness I wanted to deny. The part of my mind that wasn't reeling from the hazy invasion of foreign lust beckoned me to a warning sign: the moment I addressed my doubts knowingly, this unearthly force came knocking at the door of my consciousness.

My doubts were casual; I didn't mean for them to bear any weight.

Everyone has doubts.

An ominous whisper resonated from the back of my mind: meaningless or not, the damage was done.

* * *

><p>I came home to the apartment almost an hour later.<p>

Eric was unhappy with me.

"Kyle, I understand that you're busy," he ground out, standing in the middle of the living room. His warm hazel eyes were spewing fire in my direction as I stood by the door. "But would it _kill_ you to answer a goddamn message?"

Not bothering to take off my snow soaked boots, I trudged through to the living room. The weight of my coat on my shoulders felt lighter as I wrapped my arms around Eric.

I held him tight.

I could feel him shiver from the cold that clung to my clothes. He wrapped his arms around me anyway.

I didn't realize how shaken I was until I felt his warmth. In that moment, it dawned on me, for the first real time, just how distant we became, and I resented myself for letting it happen. How could I slip away from someone who meant this much to me? I felt how much I missed him, and the sentiment burned a heavy hole in my chest. I choked up.

Eric's skin felt warm and soft through the fabric of his shirt. His cinnamon scent filled my lungs instantly and any trace of the toxic invasion from earlier was flushed clean from my body. The guilty weight of my anxiety and our estrangement was washed out along with it. It must have been like detox, because the freeing sensation felt overwhelming in its sorrow. Yet I could feel a trace of my old self flowing like the will to live in my veins, coursing all the way back to my heart.

"Kyle … shit. Don't cry."

The realization of our distance, the weighty pain I felt from the mere thought of being unfaithful to Eric—it was like lightning split the heavens and broke a dam inside of me. The sudden devastating rush of resentment I felt for myself fractured a part of me. Somehow, that was okay. The part of me that broke gave way for the growth of something new and more resilient.

I pulled away from Eric and stared at his concerned face with watery eyes. I knew that I needed him.

"Eric, I love you."

"Kyle …"

"I love you, and I know I've been acting shitty. I _know_ that …"

"Yeah, you _have_."

Our voices were barely above whispers. They seemed to echo in the silence and stillness of our apartment.

"Why haven't you said anything about it? I would think you'd have left me by now …"

Eric's face radiated knowing, kind warmth. It comforted me, despite what I was asking him.

He reached up to wrap a lock of my hair around his finger. His hazel eyes danced across my face, taking in my expression. His other hand began to stroke my arm, and I wished desperately to remove my coat. I wanted his fingers on my bare skin.

There was something in his eyes that betrayed his knowledge of my own emotions. He looked at me as if he knew exactly what I felt. I expected him to react in anger, betrayal. In its place, I found a calculating patience. He was waiting. For what, I wasn't too sure at the time.

"Eric ..?" I whispered, growing anxious at his prolonged silence.

He seemed to step out of his intimate observation of my face. He blinked and met my eyes. A quirk of his lips told me that he was considering my question.

I asked again: "Why haven't you called me out on being a jerk? I mean … this isn't okay … _I'm_ not okay."

His reply was ready and immediate:

"It's called having faith, Kyle. This—Shit like this doesn't last forever."

I felt the cool wetness on my cheeks as Eric moved closer. His breath ghosted across my skin. He placed his hands on my waist, caressing me with soothing motions of his fingers. I wanted him to stay close.

"What … you were just waiting it out?"

"That's one way to put it."

His body felt comforting at our proximity, barely touching mine, an inch shy of pressing flush against me.

"Kyle … let's just sat I know you well enough," Eric continued, his voice low and husky. "There's no way you'd let something get in the way of what we have."

He breached the small gap between us, placing his palm at the back of my neck, leaning in to press his lips against my forehead. I closed my eyes, basking in his warmth.

"You're right," I muttered as he lingered. "We've come a long way. Too far to turn back …"

I could feel his lips moving against my forehead. His hot breath contrasted sharply against the cold air that still lingered on my skin.

"Nothing about any of this is reversible, Kyle."

My heart raced at the implication behind his words.

"No turning back … This is _it_."

Eric pulled away, just enough for our eyes to meet. The weight of my recent temptation, my doubts regarding our relationship, and now the indelible mark we've created within each other—all of it dawned on me in a different light. The heavy feeling in my chest returned, reinforcing all of my misgivings on the strength of our connection.

Despite that, a silver lining shone white and clear past all my doubts. The resonance of truth within my conscience was rekindled by a single thought: "It's him or no one else."

"I'm ready to see this through to the very end."

My words should have been heavy, filled with the burden of obligatory sentiment. Instead, they freed me.

Eric smiled.

"I knew you would say that, Kyle. I knew you wouldn't leave."

* * *

><p>I woke up in the middle of the night with a strange sense that I'd forgotten something. The silence of the apartment greeted me. It seemed to enhance a feeling of unease in my stomach. Butterflies fluttered in the cavity of my gut and I felt the restless need to get up and move.<p>

Quietly, I crept out from underneath the blanket, careful not to wake Eric. The sudden rush of cold air had me shivering. I instantly missed Eric's warmth, but the swift need to move my legs pulled me away from the cozy confines of our bed.

My memory of our apartment layout guided me in the absence of light, down the hall all the way to the bathroom.

I flicked open the light switch. My retinas were stunned for a moment, as if from the flash of a light bulb, by the fluorescent glow of the bleach white bathroom. The iciness of the white floor tiles greeted my bare feet, shaking from me the last vestiges of sleep. I made my way to the sink, reaching out to grasp the cold metal faucet. Turning on the tap, I gazed at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. I looked more pale than usual, the sensitive skin underneath my eyes slightly darker than the rest of my face.

The running water seemed like a sonic boom in the silence of the night.

I bent over, feeling the icy rush of cold liquid slipping past my fingers.

Cupping my hands, I splashed water against my tired face. The frigid sensation of pins and needles stunned me out of a hazy reverie I wasn't aware of. Suddenly, I was more conscious of my surroundings. The off-white walls seemed twice as blinding, and the cold underneath my feet prickled my skin.

Small streams of water droplets hit my bare chest, isolated sensations of chilly moisture trailing down my skin.

I remembered, instantly, the feeling I had upon waking. I was forgetting something.

Recalling the events of the day, I noted that nothing was out of place. It felt odd to me that this unwarranted feeling would creep up on me now.

Went to school. Studied. Went to work. Went home.

I reflected upon the daily routine and concentrated with obsessive persistence on every detail of my day. Nothing was out of the ordinary. A gut feeling told me I was missing something.

Shaking my head, I straightened to look at my reflection in the mirror.

Blue eyes stared back at me.

I blinked. For a moment the fluorescent shine of the room altered my perception of color. Upon blinking, my irises changed lightning fast from the optical illusion of pearly blue to their normal hue of turquoise-green.

Something pushed at me from the back of my mind.

I was forgetting something.

The hairs at the nape of my neck prickled.

I whipped around, turning to look behind me. I was alone in the bathroom. My heart was racing. Something didn't feel right.

I was forgetting something.

* * *

><p>Kyle awoke to the sensation of soft warmth pressed against his lips. His green eyes fluttered open to the discovery of Eric leaning over him on the bed. His gentle kiss nudged Kyle awake.<p>

Groaning, Kyle reached up, tangling his fingers in smooth, silky brown hair. The moment their lips parted softly, their eyes greeted each other.

In the light of early morning, Eric's features looked gentler and mellow, his hazel eyes warm and inviting. His lips were curved into a half-smile as he gazed down at Kyle.

Kyle smiled up at him, appreciating the warm silkiness of Eric's hair underneath his fingertips.

"Good morning," he murmured, heart racing as Eric moved to settle in between his legs. Kyle's face turned pink with warmth upon feeling the evidence of their desire.

"Morning, Kyle," Eric whispered. He nudged Kyle's jaw with his nose, moaning his appreciation as Kyle turned to expose the pale pink flesh of his neck. Eric laid a gentle kiss on the sensitive area, biting gently, grazing the soft skin with his tongue. Kyle's aroused groan drifted like aphrodisiac into his ear.

Eric paused, his lips hovering a mere centimeter away from Kyle's sensitive skin.

A tangible stillness in their movements gave way to the realization of their long absent intimacy.

Eric pulled away, propping himself up on his palms. He hovered above Kyle, staring down at him with an expression of apprehension and uncertainty.

"Kyle …" Eric whispered, reluctance evident in the way he spoke slowly. "Does this mean we're okay now?"

Kyle blinked, allowing for a pause to sink in before sighing. He moved his hands to rest on Eric's broad shoulders. Their eyes met.

"Yeah, we're okay, Eric. We're going to be fine." Kyle smiled. The upturn of his lips was an indication of the hope he must have felt.

Eric smiled back, leaning in to press his lips against Kyle's forehead.

* * *

><p>I arrived at work the following afternoon feeling dismal because of the persistence of the cold weather. December was never pleasant in Colorado, and winter seemed to get the best of me despite having grown up with it ever since I could remember.<p>

The manager of the art store wasn't pleased about me skipping out on work the day before, but let it slide due to the fact that I was his best employee. I promised it wouldn't happen again.

I was feeling oddly agitated the entire day. I kept trying to remember what I'd forgotten. The feeling still pushed at me from the back of my mind and I constantly felt the need to look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching me. The hairs at the back of my neck wouldn't stop prickling. A sensation of dread alighted in my stomach every time this happened, and I had the keen suspicion that someone was following me.

This was unwarranted, seeing as how every time I turned around, I would find myself alone.

It always happened while I was alone.

A nagging suspicion told me that this paranoia was somehow connected to the anxiety I felt over whatever I'd forgotten.

As I sat behind the cash register, going over sales accounts and inventory, my recent reconciliation with Eric brought a flicker of warmth to my frayed nerves. I took solace in the fact that our relationship was fine. I still couldn't explain why I drifted away from him in the past months, but I told myself that it didn't matter so much now because everything was going to be better.

The old-fashioned bell above the shop door tinkled as the manager let someone in. I could hear his muffled voice conversing quietly with somebody. I couldn't see them from behind the checkout counter as my vision was obscured by several rows of shelves.

I continued with my work, but paused upon hearing brisk footsteps making their way in my direction.

I looked up.

The pen I held dropped to the floor.

Standing in front of the counter was a boy, younger than me by a year or two. He had shiny black hair that framed his rosy face in wavy locks. Cupid's bow lips rested merry and mischievous underneath a pointed nose. His eyes were moss green and iridescent in the fluorescent light.

The pretty stranger had his hands in the pocket of his charcoal-grey fleece coat, one that was adorned with golden buttons. He was smiling up at me.

"Um …" I muttered, shuffling to pick up my pen. I felt my face heat up. "Welcome to Carmichael's. How may I help you?"

The two of us must have stared at each other for three silent minutes. I felt awkward underneath his straightforward gaze.

I tried addressing him again as he continued to stare and smile in silence. "Can I help you with something?"

His eyes twinkled up at me. "You must be Kyle."

The ease with which he acted seemed to drain all sense of comfort from my body. I felt nervous, clammy, and mysteriously wary as I looked at him in confusion.

"Yeah. That's me. How'd you know—"

"I'm the new employee."

"O_kay_—"

"It's nice to meet you, Kyle," he said, extending his right hand toward me.

I found it enchanting how he said my name. He had a faint accent I couldn't pinpoint, but I was sure it was from the United Kingdom. He spoke easily, as if impervious to the atmosphere of discomfort he'd created around me.

Hesitating for a moment, I eventually grasped his hand in mine. His skin felt cold from the outdoors.

"Uh, so you're the new guy," I muttered. I couldn't recall the manager saying anything about hiring someone new.

"Yes," he responded. The boy held himself with an air of absolute certainty, his back erect, his shoulders open. Everything about him radiated ease, as if he had total control and knowledge of everything around him. Something about that aura held my undivided attention.

"I'm sorry," I said, scratching the back of my neck. The prickling sensation returned. "Your name?"

His easy smile seemed to falter for a fraction of a second, and I wouldn't have noticed had he not stiffened visibly. He regained composure with lightning speed, and I had no time to wonder why he seemed so apprehensive about giving me his name.

"Robin," he said. Each syllable was emphasized with the breathy tinkle that seemed to linger in his voice. "Robin Fallow."

"Nice to meet you, Robin. Do you need me to show you around or—"

"No, that's fine. I only came in to … see what this job entailed."

He spoke with a slight tilt of his head. The gesture should have been endearing, and it was, although I couldn't help but get the impression that we both took different meanings from his statement.

"I see," I muttered. I leaned over the counter, resting my elbows on the surface, keen on getting a closer but subtle look at Robin. His complexion was perfect—not a single blemish on his porcelain skin. The scent that clung to him was distinct and oddly familiar: pine and maple.

A heavy sense of déjà vu came over me as I glanced at his eyes. His crystal clear irises had a peculiar hue of mossy green, but the color was vibrant against his rosy porcelain complexion.

"Is something the matter, Kyle?"

I was jolted out of my observation by Robin's seemingly innocent question. Recovering fast, I cleared my throat and straightened. "Well, is that all you're here for? It's a pretty slow afternoon. I could show you around."

He nodded slightly to indicate that he heard me, but made no sign of replying as he indulged in a perusal of the store. Robin's lips were turned up into a small, bright smile, but his eyes indicated insincerity and disinterest.

I frowned.

His attention refocused onto me, and the expression in his eyes changed to genuine fascination. The speed with which his emotions altered was both puzzling and captivating. Robin looked at me with blatant intrigue and something about that flattered me.

He was staring again.

I suppressed the urge to clear my throat. There was a distinct trace of self-satisfaction in the way he smiled up at me, as if he knew exactly how appealing he was. He wouldn't be wrong. Robin had a face I never encountered before.

"If you don't mind," he began, "we could become thoroughly acquainted with each other, seeing as we will be working in close proximity."

I couldn't help but smile at him. The thought of working together suddenly felt rather appealing.

"You mean … go out for some coffee?" I offered a suggestion, and the renewed sparkle in his eyes told me I struck the right chord.

"That would be enjoyable."

Maybe it was his accent, but everything he said seemed hypnotizing and refined.

"Sure thing, Robin. My shift ends in fifteen minutes. Think you can wait until then?"

The sudden shift in his eyes created a plunging sensation of dread in my stomach. The iridescent quality of his irises became dull and hard. The contrast of displeasure against his perfectly neutral features was unsettling. The prickling sensation at the back of my neck began anew. I resisted the urge to turn around and see if anyone was behind me.

As far as I knew, it was just me and Robin.

"I'm sorry," I blurted out hastily. "You don't have to wait. We could always just— "

"No," he smiled. "Fifteen minutes sounds fine."

I swallowed. The hard emotion in his eyes was gone and in its place sat the easy sparkle of fascination that I was beginning to believe was reserved only for me.

Something told me that Robin didn't like to be kept waiting.

"Are you sure?" I asked. I felt the inexplicable need to placate him. "I can probably get off now. No one comes by the store this late anyway."

Robin's smile widened by a fraction, and I was pleased to see that any trace of irritation departed completely from his eyes.

"Very well, Kyle. Meet me by the door."

* * *

><p>We walked in silence to the coffee shop a block down the street.<p>

Robin paused in front of the shop door. An expectant expression came over his face.

It took a moment for me realize what he wanted me to do. In a gesture of courtesy, I pulled the door open. "After you."

"Thank you, Kyle," said Robin, smiling up at me as he crossed the threshold.

I followed him through, appreciating the warm air that greeted us in the vestibule of the coffee shop.

I led the way to the counter, looking up at the menu. The shop seemed devoid of customers that time of afternoon and the soft thrum of indie music was interspersed with the scent of coffee that lingered in the warm air.

I ordered a cup of dry cappuccino and rosemary tea for Robin. The blonde girl at the cashier gave me an odd look, but said nothing more than, "I'll have your order in a few minutes."

I sat with Robin at a booth to the back of the shop where the lighting was dimmer, and the white glow of snow and sunlight from the windows wasn't as blinding.

"I'm glad to get to know you better, Kyle," Robin murmured. He sat up straight from across me, his back barely touching the synthetic upholstery of the booth bench.

"Sure thing," I muttered noncommittally. "So … how old are you, Robin?"

"Old enough."

The abruptness of his reply left no room for further question. I decided to move on.

"Uh … well, where are you from? I can't really place your accent."

Robin's smile took on an enigmatic quality. As he replied, I got the clear impression that he was being completely honest. But his expression told me that a complex and perhaps unbelievable story lay just beyond his words.

"I mostly stay in Northern Ireland and England, but … I travel the world. Staying in one place gets tedious. Don't you think so?"

I nodded in agreement. I noted that Robin seemed to make as little movement as possible. He sat erect and regal in his place, his head facing me. In fact, the only parts of him that seemed to move were his eyes and lips.

"That's really interesting. You must have seen a lot of things around the world," I said, smiling at him. "Why come here to Denver, then? Nothing much happens here."

Robin laughed.

The eruption of tinkling, merry sound from his throat catalyzed the creation of a magnetic pull. I felt drawn to him, and his mirth only succeeded in reeling me in faster. My mind was strangely compliant to the magnetism he exuded.

"That is very funny coming from _you_, Kyle Broflovski. I think we both know that you've had your fair share of 'interesting' experiences."

My heart almost stopped beating. My expression faltered as I observed Robin from across the table. He knew more about me. The realization made me go cold with dread. Something didn't feel right.

I was forgetting something.

The hairs at the nape of my neck prickled.

I turned around. No one was behind me.

I looked to Robin, my brows furrowed. He had the same unchanging smile on his face, but his eyes were different again. Something in his mossy green eyes hinted at knowledge that shouldn't be tampered with.

"Wait a minute. How did you— "

My phone rang.

Eric.

I stopped breathing.

Eric.

A lifetime of recollection came crashing down on me. In a matter of half a second, I realized that every single memory I had of Eric had been wiped clean from my mind, but it all came rushing back the moment he called me. I remembered the conversation we had the day before. I remembered that I love him. I remembered the past year we had together. I remembered every single moment of antagonism in our childhood. But I couldn't remember one vital thing.

It happened the day before. But I couldn't remember it.

I wasn't supposed to be there, not with someone I barely knew, especially not someone who felt this strange.

I stumbled out of my seat, refusing to take one final glance at Robin. "Sorry—I … I have to go."

As I sprinted to the door, the blonde girl from behind the cashier gave me a strange look.

* * *

><p>Kyle stumbled through the apartment door, huffing and panting. He hurriedly rid his feet of his heavy boots and tossed his coat onto the floor.<p>

Eric made his way to the vestibule, alarm and concern evident in his haste.

"Kyle, what the hell—?"

There was a sudden rush of movement and the whisper of clothing rustling against clothing. Kyle rushed into Eric's arms. His breath was coming fast and panicked.

"Shit, Cartman—something doesn't feel right. Something's going on."

"Kyle, slow down. What the hell happened?"

Eric moved his palm in soothing circles against Kyle's back, furrowing his brows at the frigid cold that clung to Kyle. The redhead refused to let go. His face was buried against the crook of Eric's neck. His hot breath created moisture against Eric's warm skin.

Three minutes passed in silence. Eric settled for holding Kyle, his expression tense. His lips were pressed into a thin line, indicating the need to know what could unsettle Kyle this much. But he knew not to push.

Kyle's breathing finally evened. He pulled away, hands resting against Eric's arms.

Kyle's eyes were downcast, his furrowed brows, a desolate frown signifying the unwillingness to address his anxiety.

"I … I don't want to talk about it, Eric. I just … I just want to be with you right now."

"Kyle." Eric's voice was firm, a silent command. "You know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

"I know. It's just that I don't feel like it. Not right now. I'm tired. I just want to rest."

Eric frowned. He allowed himself a brief inspection of Kyle's face, as if expecting to spot any trace of dishonesty. When he found none, he sighed. Gently taking off Kyle's hat, he brushed curls of red hair, feeling the springy silkiness underneath his palm.

"If you say so, Kyle."

"Thanks, Eric."

* * *

><p>"Kyle."<p>

Kyle shifted in bed, turning to glance behind him at Eric. Arms tightened around his waist, and the feeling of Eric's warm body enveloping him gave Kyle an infallible sense of comfort.

"Yeah?"

"Are you sure you're okay?"

Turning to stare into the darkness of their bedroom room, Kyle furrowed his brows. "Yeah. I'm going to be okay. I just need to rest."

Eric said nothing more, burying his nose in the lemon-scented fragrance of Kyle's red curls. Kyle knew he wanted to ask, but was grateful for the silence.

* * *

><p>The moment I saw Eric's expression of concern, I knew I couldn't bring myself to tell him.<p>

I mean, what was I supposed to say?

I couldn't even explain what was happening.

Robin.

There was something strange about him.

There was something I couldn't remember.

For the past few months, my love waned, and for no apparent reason.

Something was going on.

But I couldn't figure out what.

* * *

><p>I met the next day with apprehension.<p>

Eric was only too willing to let go of the subject of my impulsive outburst. But I could sense his wariness, although neither of us addressed it.

Before I left for class, Eric kissed me good bye. It was a simple, chaste kiss. His firm grip on my arm conveyed to me the unease and worry that clung to him like choking smog.

I leaned in to kiss him a second time, as if to say without words that I would get myself out of this.

Classes were a blur. I couldn't concentrate. My thoughts darted back and forth from Eric, to Robin Fallow, and continued on a restless cycle. I still thought about what I was forgetting. Instinct told me that if I could remember, everything would seem clearer. I would find an answer in the forgotten incident.

My mind refused to budge.

Whenever my thoughts spun round and round and eventually arrived to the repeated insistence of remembering, I felt the familiar prickle at the back of my neck. By force of habit, I would always turn around to look behind me. Each and every time, I would find myself alone, left with the suspicion that someone was watching me.

I would always be alone.

I arrived at work later in the afternoon. My manager was in his office and I knew well enough not to disturb him when he was busy.

I sat behind the cashier, watching the door for any sign of Robin.

An hour passed without anyone coming in. Everything seemed oddly silent.

My guard was down when I spotted movement at the back of the store from the corner of my eye. Someone had gone into the backroom. A glance at the manager's office told me that it couldn't have been my manager; his door hadn't opened.

I felt the need to move silently as I moved out from behind the checkout counter. I made my way down a row of tall shelves, approaching the backroom with unease. The light was dimmer in this part of the store. The hairs at the back of my neck prickled with cold awareness, but I knew I was alone; there would be no point in glancing behind me.

Finally reaching the door, I grasped the metal handle of the knob in my right hand. I felt nervous. Icy dread pumped like liquid nitrogen in my veins, holding me perfectly still, frozen in place.

I turned the doorknob.

The backroom door swung open silently. The light was on inside, and I couldn't see further past stacks of boxes and a wide shelf that contained stock items.

I cleared my throat. The sound seemed to echo. Despite the room being above ground level, the temperature was oddly cold and damp, giving me the sense of being in a basement.

"Anyone in there?" I called out.

I was met with a beat of silence.

"It's me, Kyle."

The sound of Robin's tinkling voice met my ears. It seemed to resonate within the cold space. The warmth in his tone failed to ease my anxiety.

I stepped inside the room, hearing the door click shut behind me. The prickling sensation at the back of my neck spread downward in a ripple of hair-raising dread. My entire back tingled. I didn't want to turn behind me. I was certain now that somebody was watching.

A cold stone of horror sank in the bottom of my gut, heavy and dense, pulling me down into a feeling of entrapment.

I had nowhere to run.

I jerked when movement caught my eye.

Robin emerged from behind the wide shelf that obscured my vision. He seemed no different than when I saw him the day before. Not a hair out of place, lips still curved into a half smile. He moved as if gliding across the floor like mist. His stillness unnerved me.

He didn't draw close, but the way his green eyes bore manically into mine instilled a tinge of fear and discomfort underneath my skin. I felt surrounded by his ominous presence.

Robin wasn't normal.

He was beautiful, in the same way towering snowy peaked mountains were beautiful. His aura seemed to me as powerful as raging, icy rivers whose currents could sweep away life just as easily as they could support it. This beauty was enigmatic, ethereal, and otherworldly. It wasn't meant to be touched.

I stumbled backward, hit by a reeling sensation of nausea in my gut. The memory—it was close. I could almost touch it.

Yet the closer I got, the denser the queasiness became. It grabbed hold of my throat like noxious purple slime, choking me with its gruesome, sickly scent.

I doubled over. My knees hit the floor and my lungs heaved.

"What's the matter, Kyle?"

Robin's voice was low, drifting into my ear like a slithering whisper.

"You're resilient, Kyle Broflovski. I've tried long and hard to turn you against him. Is this what you call true love?"

The sneer in his voice frightened me.

I heaved onto the floor, tasting wretched bile at the back of my throat. I refused to look up at him. "What the _hell_ are you talking about?" I rasped, feeling my hands shaking against the cold floor. I pulled and grasped frantically at the confines of my mind. I needed to _remember_ something.

Robin's footsteps drew closer.

The memory drifted a hair's breadth away from me.

In the darkness of my mind, I touched it.

My vision went black.

* * *

><p>I burst out of the backroom door.<p>

My mind was in pieces.

The unnerving conversation I had with Robin was splayed all over the walls of my consciousness like gory fireworks from a gunshot wound.

"Is something wrong, Kyle?"

"No. Nothing's wrong."

"You know you can tell me."

"Can I? What makes you say that, Robin?"

"I know you desire me. I saw it in the way you looked at me yesterday. It's alright, Kyle. You've done nothing wrong. This feeling that you have for me isn't sinful."

I felt hot and clammy as I bolted out of the shop. The icy wind of December air bit into my skin as if to punish me. I sought a way home, not caring that I left my bag and jacket behind at the art store.

Robin was right.

I wanted him.

Despite knowing the truth, I felt distinct vestiges of nausea and fear that lingered underneath my skin. I couldn't explain the ominous sensations, but I decided to trust them when they told me to run.

* * *

><p>I stumbled through my silent apartment. I felt sickly. My skin was clammy, my hands pale, and every ounce of strength was drained from my body by the effort it took to find my way home.<p>

My vision blurred. Frantically, I blinked, rebelling against the haze, groaning at the pain that exploded in protest behind my skull.

I hit the floor, my knees crashing against the carpet, soon followed by the rest of my body.

Sensations of exploding colors erupted in sudden bursts behind my eyelids. Coarse pain from the back of my throat told me I was screaming. A high frequency noise pierced through my ears, preventing me from hearing my own anguish.

I drifted in and out of consciousness.

My body was numb from cold.

I viewed segments of the next few moments like stills from a corrupted video.

I was crawling through the living room.

I lay on my stomach in the hallway.

My mind finally cleared itself with cold stillness. I realized that I was sprawled naked on the shower floor, meekly groaning in protest against the red hot drizzle of water that assailed my tormented skin.

I felt itchy and dirty and cold.

I couldn't stop shaking.

A sudden bolt of nausea hit me in my stomach. I shot up from my position, vomiting against the white shower floor.

I emptied the contents of my stomach until there was nothing left to purge. I kept gagging, feeling disgusted and wretched. The bile that coated my mouth only pushed me to keep on heaving.

I stopped after what felt like a millennium.

My forehead touched the wet shower floor. I closed my eyes, tired and desolate against the onslaught of fatigue that settled against me like a thin blanket. My body slumped, becoming dead weight as I passed out.

The last thing I heard was the sound of tinkling as water hit the tap.

* * *

><p>I couldn't see, but I felt my hands bound above me, my legs restrained against two posts. My naked body lay flat against a cold jagged surface. It felt like stone. The material scraped rough and unforgiving against my skin. I could feel open wounds forming across my back. The faint smell of blood and earth permeated my lungs.<p>

The air felt damp and cool.

Nothing obscured my vision except the darkness that surrounded me.

I groaned. My throat felt dry and itchy, strained from screaming.

"Shit … someone … help."

A scratch and a hiss from near my feet told me that someone struck a match. I blinked tired bloodshot eyes, glancing at the foot of the slab of stone I laid upon. A faint glow from a matchstick illuminated a beautiful face.

Robin stood not too far away, gazing with cruel satisfaction straight into my eyes. His lips were curved into their permanent, detached smile, and the rest of his body was still. Mossy green eyes seemed poisonous in the orange glow of the matchstick he held.

"No one will come, Kyle," he spoke. His voice boomed in the dark cavern. It echoed against high walls and ceilings that I failed to see. His words seemed to come from more than one source.

I watched with dread as he took three steps toward me. He splayed his fingers across the surface of my abdomen. His skin felt cold and foreign. I hated his touch.

"Peace of mind," he began, his voice echoing despite its whisper-like quality, "is very precious, Kyle Broflovski. I will take yours away, just as you have taken mine."

His green eyes never failed to leave my face. I felt his nails scraping against my stomach. My breath hitched. A foreign sensation of hot, blistering need exploded in my veins. I cried out against cold fingers that brushed gently against the path that fingernails grazed. White light came in bursts of fire behind my eyelids.

The vacuum of darkness swallowed my cry of lust. It failed to echo in the way Robin's voice did.

The matchstick went out. My vision was consumed by darkness once more.

Robin's high pitched manic laugh echoed. I didn't know where he was.

I heard the singing of metal as a blade was unsheathed.

My eyes widened.

I struggled against my bonds, the pull of muscles stretching my skin taut. I cried out against the cutting stone that tore at my back each time I dared to move.

I felt a cold sensation pressed against the inside of my thigh.

My scream ripped the air clear of silence.

Hot liquid came pouring forth from the swift cut, flowing onto the cold stone underneath me.

My gasps and anguished cries filled my own ears.

From the cut of the cold blade sprung a red hot flow of desire that coursed like molten narcotics into my veins. I breathed past a choking sensation in my lungs, my chest wheezing.

"Aroused?"

The whisper slithered from all angles of the cold air into my ears, across my skin.

Lust blinded my senses.

I moaned. My skin felt hot, sensitive, screaming to be touched. I needed Robin's hands and mouth on my arousal. I strained against the chains that kept me bound, feeling the vibrations of a sultry, hazy groan as it escaped my torn throat.

I felt the cold press of metal against the center of my chest, right above my heart. A cruel, unseen hand dragged the blade down, splitting my skin as easily as a scalpel. The cut ran down my center, stopping just beyond my abdomen. A cold, wet sensation passed over the cut. Robin licked my skin clean of the blood that started flowing, and where I once felt an open cut his mouth repaired my flesh with swipes of his tongue.

I was panting, my need for him growing. The sensation of his mouth against the painful, stinging wound shot bolts of pleasure down to my hardness.

Robin finished laving at my skin. The cut was gone, but the pain lingered, twice as vengeful.

I felt the blade against my throat.

My breath hitched, and tears formed in the corners of my eyes from the pain and lust that warred within my body.

The cold metal pressed against the column of my throat. It lingered.

I choked on the cold air.

The cold metal disappeared from my skin. My heart sank.

An icy, wet mouth wrapped around my hard shaft.

I cried out, my hips rising from the rock, bonds straining and pulling with agonizing tension against my limbs.

My moans were swallowed by the darkness of the damp cavern. Mind hazy with hot desire, I bucked my hips up and down into the welcoming mouth of a beautiful face I couldn't see. Heat coiled in my abdomen. My body begged for release. The wet sensation that wrapped silken and tight around my flesh drove my conscience off the edges of my mind.

White hot light ruptured from behind my skull.

I felt familiar warmth.

* * *

><p>My eyes opened.<p>

The familiar ceiling of our bedroom greeted my fatigued mind.

I fell asleep, knowing that I was safe.

* * *

><p>Eric sat up in the chair he brought in from the kitchen. A weak groan caught his attention.<p>

Kyle lay on the bed, his skin ashen, covered in a sickly sheen of sweat. His breathing was hoarse and shallow. He wouldn't stop shaking.

Swallowing past the choking feeling in his throat, Eric reached out, grasping Kyle's clammy hand in his.

The last thing he expected to find upon coming home was a trail of Kyle's discarded clothes leading to the bathroom. His heart nearly gave out when he found Kyle, limp and pale, lying underneath the hot spray of the shower head.

Kyle had a violent fever. His skin broke out in cold sweat, emitting sickly heat.

Eric squeezed Kyle's hand in his, lifting it to his lips. Planting a hard kiss against the hot skin, Eric reverently placed Kyle's hand back on the bed.

"Well," he murmured, hazel eyes staring ahead with cold determination. "Just keep trying, asshole. Give it your best shot. You won't take him away from me."

* * *

><p>Exhaustion and pain made his body feel twice as heavy. Kyle blinked bleary eyes, groaning against the pounding behind his skull.<p>

"Shh, don't move."

Kyle searched his hazy vision for the source of the warm voice. "Eric ..?"

"Yeah. Yeah, Kyle, it's me."

"What happened ..? Dude, I feel like shit …"

Eric laughed, his voice shaky. Leaning over the bed, he pressed a gentle kiss on Kyle's clammy forehead, brushing limp red curls in a gesture of comfort.

"You have a fever."

Kyle furrowed his brows, squeezing his eyes shut. The pain from his head was scrambling his thoughts. All he wanted to do was go back to sleep.

"Eric … falling asleep … Head hurts."

Eric bit his lip, watching as Kyle struggled with consciousness and sleep, his usually bright, handsome features scrunched up in pain and weariness.

"It's okay, Kyle," Eric whispered, stroking curly red hair. "I'm here. It's safe. You can go back to sleep."

Kyle felt an overwhelming sense of comfort that vanquished the pain from his head. Knowing that Eric was beside him was like a cool breeze that blew against the sail of his mind, letting it drift into steady waters of peaceful rest.

* * *

><p>I woke up the next day feeling oddly rested.<p>

Eric on the other hand was clearly shaken by what happened. I told him I felt fine.

Strangely enough, my fever was gone.

I felt strong enough to make it to class and despite Eric's protests, I told him that I needed to go.

"I'll head home straight after," I assured him as I adjusted the strap of my bag across my shoulder. "I'm feeling fine, anyway. I mean, it's kinda weird how I'd only have a fever for a day." I smiled up at him from across the kitchen counter. "I guess that just means you're a great nurse."

Eric didn't laugh. His hazel eyes observed me with a look of sick anxiety.

I frowned.

"Dude … I'm going to be fine, okay? There's nothing to worry about." I made my way to him, taking his hands in my own. "See? I'm perfectly healthy now. It must have just been from the weather or something."

Eric pulled me into a tight embrace. My breath caught in my throat.

"Kyle … just promise me that if you get into any trouble, you'll think about me. I'll be there to help. I swear it."

Confusion assaulted my senses as he mumbled against my jacket. Despite the peculiarity of his actions, I wrapped my arms around him, smiling against his shoulder.

"I swear, Eric," I whispered. Pulling back, I planted a chaste kiss against his lips. "Now stop worrying, dude. I'll be fine."

Eric frowned. Caressing my cheek as a final gesture, he stepped back, muttering, "If you say so, Kyle. You're going to be late if you don't move."

Nodding, I headed to the door.

"You'll be late too if you don't haul ass."

"Who gives a crap. I'm always late."

* * *

><p>I couldn't concentrate on the professor's lecture.<p>

The moment I was left alone with my own thoughts, my mind started swimming.

The day before was hazy in my memory. The only part that stood out was waking up from my fever induced sleep and finding Eric sitting beside me on our bed.

My mind felt oddly clear. Something about the lack of inconsistency in my thoughts was starting to bother me. As if something was missing.

I looked at the date at the top of my notebook page.

December 13.

Yesterday was December 12.

My thoughts gave way to a disturbing memory.

I went to work yesterday. Something happened at work.

Something—

In the backroom.

My hand froze, jerking to a halt as I ceased writing. I stared wide-eyed at the date.

December 13.

I shot out of my seat and bolted out of the lecture hall.

I kept running.

I don't know how long I ran, but my lungs were screaming bloody murder by the time I reached the art store.

The door slammed open upon my intrusion. I ran past shelves darting in between rows and rows of items, until I arrived at a dimmer part of the store. The backroom door came into view.

I almost crashed into it in my haste.

Wrenching it open, I searched with frantic eyes.

Robin stood with his back towards me, facing a wide shelf.

He turned around, hitting me with the full force of his unwavering gaze.

"What's going on?" I shouted, angry. My voice bounced off the walls in sharp notes. "What happened yesterday?"

Robin stood his ground. His small smile was absent from his lips, and without it, he seemed no more than a pale, perfect doll that stood motionless in front of me.

"You know what happened, Kyle Broflovski," he whispered, eyes vacant. "Search your memory. You know the answer."

As if by the command of his voice, puzzle pieces fluttered fast and frenzied in my mind, the chains of memory piecing themselves together at last.

This was the boy I saw at the bus stop. Two days ago, he stumbled into me. His green eyes bore into my very soul as he spoke with chilling certainty: "I know your doubts, Kyle Broflovski. Meaningless or not, you've let me in with this simple weakness.

"Remember when you visited my precious well in the forest? For an immortal, peace of mind is as rare as an uncorrupted soul that lives on mortal soil. You've _destroyed_ my peace of mind. I sought solace in my cold cavern, took pains to shelter my weary, eternal being from the noise of this wretched world. As I slumbered, you and your love saw fit to cast stones and cries that clanked and shrieked down my home of sacred rest.

"Know this: I shall not lie content until you've experience the very same torment. You will find yourself filled with lust for me, aided by the poison of doubt that I've instilled in you for the past months. You will be unfaithful, in mind, in spirit, and eventually in body. You will walk away from me now with no recollection of my words, but only a deep sense of desire that will shake the very foundation of your fragile soul."

I stumbled back, reeling with disbelief. I felt lightheaded.

This was the memory I was searching for.

"You're …" I mumbled, feeling the sensation of cotton in my mouth preventing me from speaking. The lightheaded consequence of having my memory force itself back together had me stumbling in a dizzy stupor. "You're not human …"

Robin scoffed. "Of course not. Beauty and power like this, no man has ever known for himself."

I heard Robin come closer to me. Cruel mirth was clear in his voice as he spoke, tone low and menacing.

"Tell me, Kyle Broflovski, what else is missing from your memory? You are forgetting one vital thing. Go on. Search for it. You'll find yourself very surprised."

He was speaking enchantments. He must have been. For every moment he commanded my memory to piece itself back together, a steady stream of forgotten thoughts and moments came flowing back to me in disturbing onslaughts that whipped at my conscience.

Yesterday.

I spoke to him the day before in that very same room.

I remember his words: "I know you desire me. I saw it in the way you looked at me yesterday. It's alright, Kyle. You've done nothing wrong. This feeling that you have for me isn't sinful."

The images were only all too clear: I ran, shoving Robin up against a shelf. My hands gripped his sides, the heady scent of pine and maple invading my lungs. Our lips met, and I kissed him with hot desperate need. My tongue filled his mouth, aiding the flow of desire that pushed me to take him. My hardness strained against my clothing and I ground against his hips, rough and clumsy.

The sudden thought of Eric's words was the only thing that could stop my frenzied, possessed actions: "It's called having faith, Kyle."

The moment his words came crashing down in the frontier of my conscience, nausea hit my gut. I bolted from the backroom, running all the way to the apartment. The memory of stumbling home and lying in the shower in a puddle of my own vomit assailed my mind in a heady rush that felt leaden, pulling my thoughts down an abyss.

My mind screamed in protest at the force of recollection.

"It hurts, doesn't it?" Robin whispered. He stood a foot away from me, watching as I leaned heavily against the backroom door for support.

I resisted the urge to heave.

"What do you want me to do?" I gasped out, clutching my head in my hand. Pain hammered relentlessly at the back of my skull. "Should I apologize?"

"Apologies mean nothing," Robin snapped. "Equivalent exchange is all that matters."

"And tempting me like this, _destroying_ my mind with your games—this is EQUAL?"

I squinted up, past the pain that erupted in my head, catching Robin's blank, apathetic gaze.

"Yes. This is equal," he breathed. "I've milked from you pain and doubt that has poisoned your love. For the past months, I have hovered over you, whispering sweet misgivings into your ear, watching as you carved your spirit a grave with each and every doubt that you started to believe. Now … I am simply preparing for the grand finale. And then we shall finish."

I lashed out. "I will NEVER be unfaithful to him."

Robin's manic laugh echoed in my ears.

"But you already have been, Kyle Broflovski."

* * *

><p>The sweet sensation of silken sheets caressed my skin, inviting me into a deep, haze of decadence.<p>

I lay in a bed that was decorated with purple velvet and silk, the deep color lending a hue of dark desire to my skin. The heady fragrance of exotic flowers permeated the air, churning sickly sweet the thick atmosphere that curled in the darkness.

Faint glowing candles lit the area around the bed with a blood orange glow.

It was warm.

Inviting.

I felt the caress of a soft, smooth hand against my back.

I shifted onto my side, watching as a beautiful young boy with dark hair and green eyes stroked my skin. Lips caressed the crest of my shoulder, laying trails of hot kisses down my arm, all the way to my elbow.

A moan escaped my lips in one prolonged breath. My arm found its way around the beautiful boy, pushing him down into the downy softness of the bed. I hovered over him, biting and sucking at his neck, intoxicated by the fumes of flowery fragrance and his distinct scent of pine and maple. His soft skin was like the touch and embodiment of lust against my fingers, and with each stroke of his erection against my palm, I felt the infatuated need to consume him.

"You're so beautiful," I whispered into his ear.

_"It's called having faith, Kyle."_

The familiar voice triggered a blinding light that exploded with warmth behind my eyelids. It clarified my senses, scattering the intoxicating scent of noxious flowers, leaving me only with a sense of liberation.

I was pulled from the vision by a simple thought that persisted through the broken fragments of my mind: Eric.

* * *

><p>I shot up straight. My neck hurt, and my back felt tense.<p>

I looked around me in alarm and found myself sitting in my lecture hall. I must have fallen asleep. A glance at the top of my notebook told me the date: December 13.

Cold sweat broke out over my forehead. The dark manifestations within my head came running after my consciousness. Everything that happened within my dreams felt too real. I couldn't simply dismiss them as illusions of a troubled mind.

I knew what was happening.

I knew why I drifted away from Eric.

Flashes of the past few months came crashing down upon me like volatile waves against black rocks. His whispers—Robin's poisonous words—hovered within every inch of my memory ever since the day I turned nineteen, when Eric and I visited the black, bottomless well in the forest.

He wanted equivalent exchange.

Cold dread sank dense and black in the pit of my stomach.

Robin wasn't human. He was an otherworldly power dressed in beautiful skin, skin that had the capability of ruining any man.

There was nothing I could do against his grudge.

I gathered my things silently and made my way out of the lecture hall. I needed to go home. I needed to be with Eric. Instinct told me that if I was with him, Robin had less of a chance to invade my senses.

I got off a city bus and trudged hastily towards our apartment. I pulled out my phone, hoping to God that Eric would pick up.

The line rang twice before he answered.

"Eric, get home, now," I muttered, almost sprinting down an alley, a few meters away from the apartment. "I know what's going on now. We're not safe apart. You have to get home _now_."

"You've been unfaithful, Kyle."

I stopped dead. The entire area was ominously silent. I stood motionless, sick to my stomach, as I held my phone to my ear. The line buzzed with static.

A prickling sensation crept up my spine, settling like an insect at the nape of my neck.

I turned around slowly.

Robin stood behind me, Eric's phone held against his ear. His lips were pulled back to reveal white teeth. His eyes were black.

I felt myself being pulled into darkness.

I returned to the soft warm bed, enveloped in the musky scent of intoxicating flowers. The silk sheets caressed my skin, inviting me to stay, stay forever in the confines of lust and bliss.

I moaned, gasping for air. I watched with morbid fascination as a beautiful boy held himself above me, riding my hard erection with his tight hole. His green eyes bore into mine, commanding and delirious.

The hot wetness that enveloped my desire sent me falling into an abyss.

I hovered above a beautiful rosy face, watching as raven hair fanned in dark tresses against the purple sheets. Flushed lips parted in ecstasy, moaning feverish noises of pleasure in my ear as I drove into him. I pushed his legs back, taking delight in the virginal tightness that sheathed me.

He was riding me once more, mossy green eyes boring into my soul, his lips hissing snakelike foreign words. I pushed up, grinding into his tightness.

I suckled at the flesh of his neck, pinning him underneath me, watching as he writhed and cried underneath my touch.

I lay on my back, my eyes fluttering open, welcoming the sensation of warm lips against my own.

Turquoise-green eyes stared back at me.

I looked on in perverse fascination as my own image hovered above me, lips curled into a sneer, as he pushed my ankles above my head, forcing his hardness into my body. I cried out in pain. My vision switched. I watched as I fucked my own body into the purple sheets, gazing with cruel lust at my own face, twisted with pain, crying out to be saved. My own face looked up at me, eyes pearly blue, poisoned.

I plunged into a deeper level of the morbid vision.

I felt jagged cold stone against my back. My arms were chained above my head, my legs tied to posts at the very end of the bed of sharp rock.

My surroundings were lit by a single torch that hovered a meter above me.

Pain exploded across my body. I was covered in blood.

Cuts and bruises maimed my flesh. I had no strength left in me to move or speak.

The pain was all I knew. I wanted to give in.

"You're resilient," the displeased echo of Robin's voice resonated within the black cavern. I couldn't see him, couldn't pinpoint where he lay. "Your mind keeps resisting me. Just as I'm about to deliver the finishing blow … you pull away. Tell me, Kyle …"

Robin's motionless figure hovered at the edge of my vision.

I stared defiantly into his mossy green eyes.

"… What does it take to break a love like yours?"

I must have laughed. I don't know. I must have laughed because I felt a sudden sense of joy in my chest. It blossomed against my wounds and made me impervious to the pain and sorrow that I felt.

"It's called faith, you son of a bitch," I rasped, feeling the strength of conviction behind my words. I wouldn't let him break me. "I might have been unfaithful, but there's this thing called forgiveness. Us human beings … we forgive each other, because that's what love is. I might have been unfaithful, but I know he'll forgive me."

A single tear escaped my eye, and a weight lifted itself off my chest.

"He's already forgiven me. Infidelity isn't the end."

I heard tinkling bells for some reason.

Robin laughed. But it wasn't malicious.

"Very well. Consider us even, Kyle Broflovski."

I plunged into darkness once more.

It felt peaceful.

* * *

><p>The sun filtered through the rustling leaves. Kyle and Eric walked side by side, taking time to explore the scenery near their cabin. The green grass muffled their footsteps, echoing the hushed tones in which they spoke to each other.<p>

Kyle emitted an atmosphere of warmth. Eric smiled unconsciously.

They both continued their trek through the woods, coming across a worn path in the grass that seemed to lead into denser woodland. The bright greens and earthy browns of their surroundings lent an enchanting whisper to the breeze that rustled against the foliage, making the forest come alive with hushed noise.

As the heavier cluster of branches and leaves from above dimmed the sunlight, Kyle spotted a familiar object not too far along the path.

"Hey, look. It's a well."

The well rose from the ground like the middle of a plump scaly serpent. It stood dead in the middle of a clearing, surrounded by crisp, crumbling leaves despite the summer season.

They approached leisurely, and upon drawing closer observed the green-brown moss that caked the black stones of the well. It rose about a meter from the ground, and lacked any wooden beams or pulleys that would have been used to lower a bucket down the cool shaft.

Eric peered over the edge of the round stones, staring down the well. "Holy crap, that's deep. You can't even see the bottom."

Kyle frowned, glancing down at the seemingly endless chasm.

A snicker caught Kyle's attention. He looked up to see Eric bending down to pick up a small rock from the ground.

Lightning fast, Kyle took hold of Eric's wrist in his hands, alarm evident in his green eyes.

"Dude, no," he said. Kyle's voice was firm and left no room for argument. "It's not our well. Let's just leave it alone, okay?"

Eric blinked, surprised at the sudden sobriety in the atmosphere between them. Scoffing, he dropped the rock onto the forest floor, extracting his wrist from Kyle's tight hold. "_Fine_, Kyle. Jesus Christ, you buzzkill. I only wanted to see how deep the thing was."

Kyle rolled his eyes, striding away from the well, heading back to the path leading out of the clearing. "Whatever. Trust me. I don't want to get into any shit while we're here."

"It's just a well, Kyle," Eric grunted, huffing as he followed his redhead. "What's the worst thing that could happen? Some Japanese chick with split ends kills you after seven days?"

They both laughed at the notion. Kyle nudged Eric playfully with his elbow, grinning brightly.

The hairs at the back of Kyle's neck prickled.

He whipped around.

The clearing was deserted, all except for the quiet black well that stood silent and enigmatic in the centre.

For a moment, Kyle thought he heard the tinkling of bells.

"Move your ass, Jew. I wanna see if there's a lake somewhere nearby."

Kyle hesitated for a moment then sprinted after Eric.

He failed to hear the echo of a faint laugh that resonated from within the black depths of the cold cavern.

* * *

><p>Several months after Kyle's nineteenth birthday, he received an envelope at the art shop where he worked. In it was a lone Tarot card.<p>

XVII. _La Lune_.

Upon touching it, a familiar sensation floated like mist past the barriers of his conscience. The chains of memory started to piece themselves into his mind.

Kyle dropped the card, his hands moving to feel the trembling of his lips.

The painted image fluttered to the floor of the art store backroom. Two dogs howling at the moon, around a pool where a crab resided, two lovers in the background—he read somewhere, not too long ago, about the Tarot cards. His resilient memory provided him with the information:

_The Moon: Associated with creativity, inspiration, dreams, madness, illusions, fear, fantasy, the subconscious and trickery._

Kyle slumped against the backroom door, staring blankly at a wide shelf laden with stock items.

The past several months of his life had been his happiest. He couldn't imagine not living his life without Eric.

It was surreal to consider that time could have taken an entirely different turn.

* * *

><p>I remember everything that happened because of that Tarot card.<p>

In the middle of cold February, as I finished sending Eric a message telling him I'd be home early, I spotted an envelope sitting at the corner of the checkout counter. It had no name written on it, no address, but a familiar feeling in my chest told me it was for me.

As I took it into my hands, my manager appeared from behind one of the shelves and told me to fetch him a box of calligraphy pens from the backroom. I pocketed the envelope and did as I was told.

Upon entering the backroom, curiosity nagged at me to open the small package.

It took me five seconds to tear open the envelope, gaze at the golden Roman numerals at the top of the cards, and feel the cold rush of an alternate reality come flooding back to me.

I returned to the apartment that evening, feeling shaken but relieved. As I took off my jacket and boots, I heard Eric's hurried footsteps rushing toward me.

I glanced up.

Taking in his worried expression, I realized that the recollection of sudden illusions wasn't reserved for me alone. Eric knew it, too.

"Kyle …" he whispered, as if scared to speak too loud for fear of being heard by an entity we both knew. "Did you ..?" He held up an envelope, identical to the one I found at work.

I swallowed, nodding mechanically. "I did."

His brows furrowed. Chucking the envelope behind him, he strode to me and pulled me against him in a rough embrace. I wrapped my arms around him tight, savoring the warmth of his body against the cold air that lingered on my skin.

"That close," he said, voice shaky. "We were that close …"

"But we're okay," I whispered. I took great pains to make my voice soothing despite how shaken I felt. "We're okay, Eric. It _could_ have happened, but it didn't. We shouldn't worry about it now."

I felt him nod against my shoulder. "You're right."

Nothing more was said about the incident, but for years after, the dark possibility of what could have been lay dormant in the back of our minds.

One thing I distinctly recall from the hazy illusions that still makes me wonder until this day: the doubts were small, insignificant. Everyone has doubts. But they open a weakness inside of you.

That was how Robin invaded my thoughts. I realized that had I not resigned myself to even the smallest feeling of hopelessness, he would never have had the power that he did. Without an invitation, he wouldn't have been able to possess me.

* * *

><p>Years down the road, I found myself sitting at the edge of Stark's Pond one summer evening, staring at the vast sky above me.<p>

I listened to the stillness of the night, keeping my gaze ahead of me as I heard quiet footsteps making their way toward me in the grass.

"Still thinking, Kyle?" Eric murmured, sitting down beside me.

I nodded.

He turned to stare up at the sky. I knew him well enough to be aware that he was uneasy. He had plenty to say, but kept quiet, knowing not to push.

I let the silence sink in, but after a moment, found the courage to speak.

"Dude … how long was it again? Five years. Five years ago … I took you out rowing here, at this very same place," I said, feeling a smile tugging at the corners of my lips. Happiness blossomed in my chest, filling me with the warm need to laugh. "I told you I love you back then. You wouldn't believe me."

Eric snorted, throwing his arm over my shoulder. "Of course I wouldn't believe you. You were the hottest piece of ass on this side of the planet. Still are, actually."

I snorted, turning to grin at him. "Is that actual self-deprecation I'm hearing from you, Cartman?" I asked teasingly.

Nudging my cheek with his knuckles, Eric smiled at me. "Yes or no, Jew. That's all I'm asking."

I turned toward him, staring into familiar hazel irises. "Dude … like I said, it's been five years. I guess this is only normal."

"Then say it."

I smiled, moving to whisper against his lips: "Yes, Eric Theodore Cartman. I'll marry you when we move to Canada."

* * *

><p><em>Fin.<em>

* * *

><p><em>Continue to read the secret chapter of "Infidelity."<em>


	4. X

X

* * *

><p>After their second summer together, Eric Cartman found himself driving back to Denver in the passenger seat of his car. Kyle usually drove because Eric felt too lazy and much preferred to sit back and relax.<p>

That drive was something Eric remembered for years to come.

Of all the vast childhood experiences he withheld in the confines of his mind, one stood out that should have served as an appropriate explanation.

Once, a very long time ago, he could recall an obscure incident wherein he drank the ashes of Kenny McCormick. For weeks after, his body was occupied with the burden of two souls, which served as an eye-opener in more ways than one. The strain that it put on his body was something he only came to realize years later, but never brought up, not even with Kyle. Having two entirely different perceptions hovering in such close proximity was enough to confuse any person; had Eric not possessed such a distinct life and persona separate from Kenny, it wouldn't have come as a surprise if they got their memories jumbled together, and no one knew who lived through what.

The strange thing about that particular episode was the dreams. Again and again, Eric saw, through a cloudy looking glass, visions of numerous deaths, all of them like familiar forgotten memories. Kenny would always be silent as these images played out, and in the aftermath of remembrance, it was only then that Eric experienced a moment of peace with his friend's soul.

It was as if Kenny found some kind of dim reassurance in the fact that someone other than himself knew about his reality.

Eric came to learn that his friend suffered through death countless times, in a macabre assortment of desensitizing events. He never brought it up because, like Kenny, he knew instinctively that no one would believe him.

The experience left Eric with an alternate awareness that provided another dimension to reality, one that was darker, morbid, and secretive.

On numerous occasions he would feel hair-raising sensations that prickled against the nape of his neck and he would know that he wasn't alone.

Eric never saw spirits, but rather he felt the vestiges of human souls, traces of what they left behind rather than seeing ghostly apparitions. He could feel grudges, nostalgia, sadness, the unwillingness to depart from the physical world, but only on rare occasions did he encounter a wandering soul.

He knew, however, that he had a strong perception of the spirit world, and it was all thanks to his merging with Kenny McCormick in a time not so long ago.

Eric immediately felt the memories of his time with Kenny. They surfaced to the forefront of his mind as Kyle drove past the county borders onto spacious highway road.

The hairs at the back of his neck prickled, creating a morbid tickling sensation. They weren't alone.

Years of dismissing the unearthly sensations trained him well enough not to make others aware of his sensitivity.

So he held still, watching Kyle cautiously from the corner of his eye, as a cold aura washed over him. Eric sensed the malevolence of a powerful, fearsome presence and immediately attempted to pinpoint the source.

A glance outside the car told him that there were no memorial sights on the road. The highway was eerily devoid of any traces of the supernatural. No remnants of violent deaths. That would have been the only explanation.

The crushing magnitude of black malice suggested something along the lines of a grudge, and Eric naturally concluded that it was from a spirit that left the world in an act of violence.

But something else, something more sinister and vicious, told him that he was wrong.

On a normal day, he would hear numerous whispers of the lost and damned, a cluster of dim ghostly murmurs that he couldn't decipher. But on the drive out of South Park, all of them were silent, as if fleeing from the singular presence of black hatred that seemed to pervade every inch of Eric's paranormal awareness.

As the silent drive wore on, Eric became more and more anxious when the malicious aura prevailed. It was becoming harder to conceal it from Kyle, who murmured something about, "Dude, is it just me, or does it feel cold all of a sudden? Jesus. It's only just August."

Eric stiffened, glancing at the redhead. Kyle could feel it, too.

The situation was taking a turn for the worse. If someone like Kyle, who had no known sixth sense, could become aware of an otherworldly presence, it only meant that the spirit wanted to make itself known. And with such black, choking malevolence, the situation only meant danger.

It wasn't often that Eric acknowledged spirits. He never called out to them, never made them aware that he could feel them. But the present threat that this malicious aura presented to both him and Kyle meant that he had to act.

Summoning up all his strength, he projected a thunderous roar from the confines of his mind.

_Who the fucking hell are you?_

He was greeted with a beat of silence.

Suddenly, Eric felt a choking pressure inside his chest, as if an unseen hand slipped itself past his breastbone to grasp viciously at his heart.

His pulse floundered for stability.

His reflection in the window told him he'd gone white. Eric held his breath, attempting to muffle any sounds of discomfort. A glance at Kyle told him that the redhead was unaware of his unease.

Grateful for small blessings, Eric sat up straight in his chair, muscles rigid as he felt rage simmering beneath the surface of his skin.

_I'll ask you one more fucking time,_ his mind boomed. _Don't even think of trying that again, motherfucker, because it's not going to work. Tell me. Who. You. Are. That's an order._

He was greeted with the cruel sensation of amusement. Eric held his ground, but knew instinctively that the spirit he'd addressed found his words futile and laughable. Icy fear coursed through his veins, leaving his body cold and numb with dread.

Eric looked at Kyle.

Black smog hung thick and glutinous around him, coating Kyle's unsuspecting figure in murky swirls, frightening trickles of globular black substance dripping like gasoline, hanging in the air like putrid haze.

Eric's eyes widened. He became deaf to everything around him as a piercing frequency filled his ears.

The black aura was surrounding Kyle.

It was a warning, leveled directly at Eric.

* * *

><p>They returned to their Denver apartment three hours later.<p>

The strange apparition in the car left Eric shaken and paranoid, but he took great pains not to show Kyle.

Kyle didn't suspect a thing and carried on as usual, unpacking his things and chattering away, suspiciously unaware of Eric's silence.

Eric took to watching Kyle, noting that every time he got close to the redhead, he could feel alarming traces of the violent spirit surrounding him. Kyle wasn't possessed, but Eric could tell that something hovered over him like a wicked angel.

That thought sent his mind reeling. The presence was definitely not of human origin. Whatever it was, it reeked of power and black hunger.

It lingered throughout the day. Eric wore himself out trying to piece together reasons and explanations behind the sudden manifestation. These things were never unwarranted; there had to a purpose.

* * *

><p>Midnight found him seated in the darkness of the apartment living room.<p>

Kyle was asleep, safe in bed. The spirit that clung to him seemed to have dissipated, but its presence hung in the air with dark promise.

Now it was the witching time of night, Eric pondered, and something was about to happen.

He opened the large window of the living room and now sat in an armchair, facing the dark green curtains that swayed in a ghostly dance of the night breeze.

The clock that hung on the kitchen wall could be heard ticking throughout the apartment.

Eric stared with undaunted eyes at the black sky beyond the window.

He felt rather than heard the sound of tinkling chimes. The sensation fed him cold eerie dread.

Finding his voice, he answered, "Show yourself."

A soft, chilly breeze blew against the curtains. The temperature dropped. A distinct scent of pine and maple fluttered in the air.

Eric stiffened, grasping the arms of his seat with tense fingers. Knuckles white, he fought the chilling urge to turn and look behind his shoulder. The hairs at the back of his neck were prickling with anxious fervor.

He wasn't alone.

"I've heard many things about you, Eric Cartman."

The sound of an unfamiliar voice robbed the silence from the night. Someone stood not too far behind him, and Eric tamped down the cold fear that wrapped its scaly, slimy arms around his heart.

"Of course you have," he murmured, standing his ground. "Everyone has."

Once again, he felt cold amusement in the air as a condescending chuckle echoed off the walls.

"I can smell your fear," the voice hissed. "It tastes like ash. You needn't put up such a brave front."

Eric rose from his seat. He turned around, eyes set in a fearsome glare. His gaze settled upon an innocent looking boy, a head shorter than him, with a face so angelic and pale that it rivaled the glow of the moon.

The stranger that stood in the middle of his living room had black, wavy locks that framed his seraphic visage, with iridescent green eyes that contained unearthly knowledge.

Eric frowned, feeling volatile repulsion like bile at the back of his throat. It wasn't human. It was a spirit dressed in beautiful skin.

"What do you want," Eric growled.

The apparition of the boy smiled at him, petty glee evident in his eyes. "It's funny how you can sense me clearly, Eric. Your lover doesn't share the same ability."

"Trust me," Eric sneered, "I'd rather not sense you."

A bark of merciless laughter escaped angelic lips.

"You're as irreverent as they say you are," the boy hissed cryptically. "You know my power. You can feel it. And yet you address me with insolence. I've forgotten how much backbone you foolish mortals can possess."

"What are you here for," Eric snapped. The effort it took him to sustain the unearthly connection was wearing on his mind. If he let it drag on, his guard would be compromised. Something told him that if this thing sensed any mental weakness, his mind would be invaded in a heartbeat.

The boy seemed not to take note of his demand and instead observed Eric with careless languor. Green eyes never left Eric's face. After a tense moment, the boy spoke, any trace of amusement absent in his voice. "You're an odd one, Eric Cartman. You've been blessed with this special gift, and yet we both know that it stems from a curse."

He took a contemplative pause.

"You've been touched by an immortal power."

The whisper hung heavy with promise.

Eric glared at him. "We both know that's not what you're here for," he hissed through gritted teeth, feeling impatience from the pressure of mental strain. "Why were you hovering over Kyle?"

The boy smiled. "Your lover?"

"Answer me," Eric snarled.

The boy laughed again, mockery and disdain evident in his tinkling voice. "You are very sharp. I didn't expect this from you, not at all. This makes my mission far more interesting."

Before Eric could bark out another demand for answers, the boy snapped his fingers. The sharp sound carried throughout the air like the whisper of thunder.

Suddenly, Eric felt rooted to the spot.

His eyes flared with indignant rage, watching as the boy observed him with a sadistic curl of his pretty lips.

"Let go of me," Eric ordered, voice low and thunderous.

"I'm called by many names," the boy carried on, approaching Eric with slow, deliberate steps. "To some, I'm known as Robin. So you may call me Robin.

"You may remember that not too long ago, you visited a well in a forest." Robin stood before him, angelic façade morphing into something demonic. His eyeballs turned black. The ugly voice that came from his striking lips sent a shudder of cold fear down Eric's spine.

"That was my well, my cavern of solitude. In there, I rest my weary being from the noise of your revolting world." Robin stared up at Eric with soulless eyes. The only parts of his body that moved were his lips. "Imagine my surprise when you and your precious Kyle come along to disturb a century of rest. I awake not to the joys of blossoming spring or ethereal winter, but to the sound of two insolent little boys clankering like mindless goats.

"You have disturbed my rest," Robin hissed. "You've destroyed, in a matter of seconds, peace that I have taken great pains to preserve throughout a century. Something as small and insignificant as a human being could never be able to comprehend that destruction." A repulsive sneer marred Robin's beautiful face like a contaminated gash. "Peace of mind is something you lowly creatures have always taken for granted."

Eric remained still against the invisible bonds that held him captive. His time was running out. He couldn't keep up the connection for longer than another five minutes.

He concealed his difficulty behind a steady voice. "But … that happened three months ago," he muttered in disbelief. "Why take your revenge now?"

Robin frowned, and for once Eric sensed a grave unease in the boy's aura. "Immediately after your visit to my well," he whispered gravely, "you entered your hometown, South Park." Robin said the name with emotion akin to dread and revulsion. "The soil on which it sits is tainted with a powerful scar that even I wouldn't touch. It's cursed land, barren and forever lost. The moment you set foot in that place, I couldn't hope to follow you. I would never damn myself by entering that hell."

Eric felt a cynical laugh rising in his throat. "Wow, you really must be all-knowing."

Robin lashed out. His cold fingers glinting pale like bones in the moonlight grasped Eric's jaw with monumental pressure, dragging his face down to eye level.

"Your punishment," he hissed, words flowing with snakelike enchantment, "will be severe, but not permanent. The immortal brand on your soul prevents me from doing so. Even now …" Robin frowned, nails digging harshly into Eric's skin. "Even now, this connection with you is straining me. The borders of mortality and immortality are blurred where you are concerned, Eric Cartman. You feel it as well.

"Which is why I can't inflict suffering directly unto you."

Eric grunted against the sharp pain that cut into his flesh. "What the fuck are you talking about?" Cold fear filled his stomach.

Robin's lips curled into a chilling sneer. "Let me tell you something, something I have never told anyone: every act of infidelity starts with doubt."

Eric felt his heart grow numb. A nagging suspicion fought its way into his mind, but he didn't want to acknowledge it.

"No."

"Yes," Robin chuckled. He moved his pale face closer to Eric, black eyes hollow. "Everyone has doubts, Eric Cartman. Even you. I've seen into your very soul by merely gazing into your eyes, and I know your misgivings." Robin's voice became a soft whisper, almost pitying but nonetheless cruel. "You may love him, Eric, but you've had your doubts. And so has he."

"Don't even think about it," Eric hissed, his voice low but frantic. "Don't you DARE touch Kyle."

A cackle of sadistic pleasure echoed from unfeeling lips. "That is not your prerogative. I have decided upon your judgment, and it ceases only after you have both experienced great pain." Robin's face morphed back into its angelic falsehood. Eric found himself staring into beautiful green eyes. Pretty lips curved into a crescent smile. "While I am unable to posses you, Kyle Broflovski is not the same case.

"I will whisper poisonous misgivings into his ear, and he shall believe every single one of them, thinking that it is him from whence these doubts have stemmed. Soon, he'll believe your love to a farce, nothing more than an idyllic summer romance meant to be forgotten. The doubts I whisper to him will soon become his own."

"NO. GOD DAMN IT."

Eric could feel his concentration waning. The anger and panic came close to clouding his judgment.

"God has nothing to do with it," Robin snapped. "Soon, when your beloved Kyle feels that he no longer loves you, I will appear to him as I appear to you now. Once he addresses these doubts, he will create a weakness in his mind, a small crack from which I can enter and harvest the fruits of temptation. Tell me, Eric Cartman, am I not beautiful as I appear to you now?"

Eric fought the blurry sensation of sleepiness that threatened to conquer him. He stared with murderous intent at the false skin of beauty that stared back at him, unnatural and inhuman.

Robin possessed all the splendor and majesty of a dark angel.

"You know very well," the ominous whisper echoed, "that beauty like this can bring any mortal to their knees. You human beings after all are visceral creatures; you let your judgment become obscured by temporal things such as beauty and pleasure. So why not this, Eric?

"I will have Kyle. He will be unfaithful to you, in mind, and eventually in body. Do not be mistaken; I have no desire for him. I do, however, know that in luring him to infidelity, I will break you both from the inside."

Eric felt panic rising in his throat like noxious bile. He couldn't breathe.

"You son of a bitch," he hissed, swallowing past the lump in his throat. "Leave Kyle out of this."

"He is just as guilty as you," Robin shrugged, releasing Eric's jaw from his hold. "I feel our connection waning. You know it as well."

Robin stepped back from Eric, his detached smile promising all he foretold. "Do not worry. The scars I leave will only be memories; I give you my word. Again, this is because of the immortal brand that you possess. I can't harm you, not permanently. Once Kyle has been unfaithful and you suffer the weight of betrayal, I'll consider it equivalent exchange.

"Until then," Robin whispered, "you may bask in your martyrdom, because I know that you will love your soul mate until the end of your time."

Robin cast Eric a meaningful glance. "I must warn you: if you attempt to escape your punishment, it shall only grow worse. Set foot in the town of South Park before my revenge has been fulfilled and Kyle dies. You, I might not be able to harm, but I have free reign over your beloved.

"Keep that in mind, Eric Cartman. Best not to forget. I will appear again when the deed is done."

In a heartbeat, Eric felt his invisible bonds collapse. Within the same moment, Robin disappeared.

He stood in his living room, silent, filled with dread and nausea.

His fate was sealed.

* * *

><p>In the following months, Eric watched as Kyle slowly began to drift farther and farther away from him. Robin's unnatural presence hovered in between them, unseen, but tangible.<p>

Despite the knowledge of an otherworldly power, Eric felt the pain.

Watching as Kyle stopped touching him, kissing him, speaking words that once meant so much—it was hell.

In the back of his mind, Eric held out hope that somehow Kyle would fight it with all his might. He would fight the doubts with his infallible spirit and Robin would appear again, proclaiming his revenge a futile endeavor in the face of Kyle's strength.

Holding onto that glimmer of hope drained Eric of strength from which he took solace.

Telling Kyle about Robin was futile.

Seeking help was not an option.

Going back to South Park meant a fate worse than Kyle's imminent betrayal.

Eric was forced to watch through helpless eyes as his one and only love slowly crossed over, leaving him in the shadow of regrets and anger.

A part of him resented Kyle for not fighting back, but even that resentment proved pointless.

Eric simply waited and suffered, because that was the only option Robin left for him.

* * *

><p>A glimmer of hope presented itself one December evening.<p>

Kyle came stumbling into the apartment later than usual, and Eric, filled with fear and anxiety from waiting, felt anger at him.

"Kyle, I understand that you're busy," he ground out, standing in the middle of the living room. Eric watched as Kyle stood stiffly in the apartment vestibule. "But would it kill you to answer a goddamn message?"

Eric was taken aback when Kyle ran into his arms, enveloping him in a tight embrace. The cold that clung to his clothes made Eric shiver, but he couldn't suppress the overwhelming feeling of relief in his chest as he wrapped his arms around Kyle.

A sob escaped the back of Kyle's throat. Despite the suffering of the past months that one single noise was capable of splitting Eric's heart in two.

"Kyle … shit. Don't cry."

Pulling away from Eric, Kyle looked at him, frantic tears of confusion and pain marring his fair features. Eric could sense the fear and guilt that saddened his beautiful eyes.

"Eric, I love you."

Eric felt a lump at the back of his throat. For the longest time, Kyle hadn't spoken those words. The plain truth behind his broken whisper was enough for Eric to come undone. Kyle was coming back to him.

"Kyle …"

"I love you, and I know I've been acting shitty. I know that …"

Eric couldn't help the smile that forced its way to his lips. There was hope. "Yeah, you have."

Kyle frowned at him. "Why haven't you said anything about it? I would think you'd have left me by now …"

Immense relief shook Eric, freeing him from the defeat he resigned himself to a long time ago. Kyle was aware that things weren't okay. He knew that something was happening.

Eric felt his immense love for Kyle radiating past all of the pain he endured. This was the man he wasn't able to break, no matter how many times Eric tried in their history together. He took solace in the knowledge that Kyle was resilient, even to forces he wasn't aware of. In a way, Kyle had Eric to thank for that.

"It's called having faith, Kyle. This—Shit like this doesn't last forever."

Eric whispered the message, full of meaning. It was his way of reassuring Kyle, telling the redhead in a subconscious way that it was going to be over soon. Eric felt fragile but enduring hope, like a little humming bird; things would turn out alright.

Robin's presence was strangely absent that night.

* * *

><p>A few days later, Eric came home to the silence of the apartment. He was surprised when he found Kyle's jacket thrown carelessly on the floor.<p>

Kyle was home.

But Robin's presence was absent.

Eric ran, his blood pumping with adrenaline.

* * *

><p>Eric sat up in the chair he brought in from the kitchen. A weak groan caught his attention.<p>

Kyle lay on the bed, his skin ashen, covered in a sickly sheen of sweat. His breathing was hoarse and shallow. He wouldn't stop shaking.

Swallowing past the choking feeling in his throat, Eric reached out, grasping Kyle's clammy hand in his.

The last thing he expected to find upon coming home was a trail of Kyle's discarded clothes leading to the bathroom. His heart nearly gave out when he found Kyle, limp and pale, lying underneath the hot spray of the shower head.

Kyle had a violent fever. His skin broke out in cold sweat, emitting sickly heat.

Eric squeezed Kyle's hand in his, lifting it to his lips. Planting a hard kiss against the hot skin, Eric reverently placed Kyle's hand back on the bed.

Robin's presence drifted in and out. It felt weak and desperate. Eric knew instinctively that Kyle was fighting. His body was rejecting the invasion of a foreign entity. There was hope.

"Well," he murmured, hazel eyes staring ahead with cold determination. "Just keep trying, asshole. Give it your best shot. You won't take him away from me."

* * *

><p>The next day, Robin's presence was back. It felt hot and angry, more vengeful than before.<p>

Eric felt genuine fear for Kyle. There was no telling what Robin would do in light of the redhead's rebellion.

His fever was gone, which meant that his body had then accepted the invasion of Robin's spirit.

This was a turning point, Eric realized.

He insisted that Kyle stay home for day, but was met with protests from the redhead, saying that he felt fine, and he would head home right after class.

Eric didn't want Kyle out of his sight. He knew that Robin would finally deal the finishing blow, one way or another. But Kyle's reassurances hinted something to him; if Kyle said he was going to be okay, Eric knew to trust him.

With a heavy heart, Eric watched Kyle leave their home.

He settled himself in the living room armchair, staring ahead with shaky determination.

"Your move, Robin," whispered Eric, sneering as a cold presence lingered around him. "I'm so fucking tired of sitting back helpless. We both know this is it. Prove to me that you aren't all talk and finish what you've started."

* * *

><p>An hour passed as Eric waited.<p>

The ticking of the kitchen clock ceased abruptly. Somehow, he knew that time stood still.

The temperature inside the apartment dropped below zero.

Eric could see his breath forming hazy puffs of white smoke in front of his face.

Standing from where he was seated, he turned to see Robin in the apartment vestibule, Kyle's limp form sprawled at his feet.

Eric felt the blood draining from his face. He was rooted to the spot, cold dread paralyzing him.

Robin's expression was neutral, curious. He watched as Eric fought a battle with himself: to hope for the best, or expect the very worst.

"He's alive, Eric Cartman," Robin whispered. "He's simply exhausted."

"Are you fucking done now?" Eric roared. His fists were clenched tightly at his sides. "You saw that yourself; he fought you. I don't fucking care if he played right into your slimy hands, in the end he didn't go down without a fight. And that's what matters."

His voice broke. Eric felt hot moisture building in the corners of his eyes. The knowledge that Kyle resisted eased the pain, but it crippled his heart nonetheless.

"He told me as much …" Robin whispered, glancing down at Kyle's limp body. The redhead was asleep, his face serene. Robin turned to look at Eric's forlorn expression with a sense of finality. "I've had my revenge, Eric Cartman. I've taken his fidelity."

The confirmation of his suspicions wrenched a strangled cry from Eric's throat. He clutched at his hair, fighting valiantly against the painful sobs that wracked his lungs.

"You … bastard," he hissed. "Fine, you've had your fun. You've destroyed us—"

"Not quite," Robin interrupted, his voice firm. The edge of cruelty was absent from his tone and in its place was an odd sense of curiosity. "Tell me, Eric: Do you forgive him?"

Eric glared with red-rimmed eyes. "Of course I do." He spat the words with bitter vehemence. "It wasn't Kyle's fucking fault you played your mind games."

Robin frowned, sighing. "That's not what I meant." He paused when Eric narrowed his eyes in confusion. "I meant to say: Do you forgive him for having doubts? Because I wouldn't have been able to enter his mind if his misgivings didn't hold at least a semblance of truth."

The two stared at each other. Both felt the strain of their connection wearing on as they prolonged their interaction.

"Everyone has doubts …" Eric finally murmured. He glanced at Kyle's sleeping form. "Even I've had them. I don't give a damn if you exploited Kyle because of that."

Robin smiled. It was a genuine smile, one of profound wonder. "He told me you would forgive him," he said, his voice soft. "Rest assured, Eric Cartman, he never once stopped loving you. Let me tell you one curious thing:

"You two are soul mates. I can sense it. It's a very rare bond between human beings. Yours is simple, but resilient. For the rest of your lives, you will find rare happiness within one another."

Eric glanced up at Robin, eyes guarded. "Things can't possibly go back to the way they were. Soul mates or not, or whatever the hell we are, the damage is done."

Robin chuckled. "Yes. But I will give you a choice." Holding up an envelope, Robin continued to speak, "I can rewind the clock and make it so that you never interrupted my rest, but in half a year's time, you and your love will both find identical envelopes. What you will find inside will trigger your memories of these past events, but it will only occur to you both as lost images of time. They will bear the same weight as they do now, but consider it as a 'What if,' a separate reality that should have occurred, but didn't."

Robin shrugged, flicking his wrist, making the envelope disappear. "Infidelity is a funny thing. Whether real or hypothetical, it has the power to destroy even a love as faithful as yours. If you take this deal, you are turning this reality into a hypothetical truth. It may not have happened, but the realization will hang heavy in the back of your minds that it could have happened. Something as weighty as that may very well haunt you both for the rest of your lives." Robin laughed. "You human beings are strange things."

Eric frowned. "What's the catch? Isn't there always a catch when you make deals like these?"

"You're perceptive," Robin commented, glad that he need not explain that aspect of having a bargain. "All I want is one simple thing: your brand of immortality."

Stiffening, Eric crossed his arms. "Steep. That is a fucking steep deal. Didn't you tell me that my brand was the only thing preventing you from harming me?"

"Indeed, yes," Robin remarked with amusement. "But rest assured, I know for a fact that our paths will never cross again. And if you doubt me, why not stay in your little mountain town forever?"

"Are you fucking kidding me? No thanks, asshole," Eric snapped. He paused for a moment, assessing Robin with hard eyes. "Can you tell a lie?"

Robin smiled. "No."

A smirk graced Eric's lips. "That's why you want my brand."

"Very sharp," Robin muttered. "Very sharp indeed."

"So if I asked you anything," Eric mused, "you would be able to tell me the truth. You wouldn't be able to lie."

"Yes. But careful, Eric," Robin warned, the cruel edge resurfacing in his voice. "There is knowledge in this world not fit for the human mind. Our connection is waning. Make your choice now."

Eric watched Robin, attempting to decipher any meaning behind that beautiful face.

"What are you?"

"An immortal being."

Eric frowned, but chose not to argue. Their time was short.

"If you take my brand, will you come anywhere near us again?"

"No, Eric Cartman. I will not."

Eric watched Robin, feeling the familiar sensation of sleep coming over him.

"Fuck your knowledge," he spoke with finality. "It's worth nothing if I don't have Kyle."

Robin smiled. "Then find your peace. Your brand is mine forever."

* * *

><p>Months later, in a separate reality, Eric found a white envelope sitting on the kitchen counter of the apartment.<p>

Upon opening it, he found a lone Tarot card.

_XVII. La Lune._

* * *

><p>If we shadows have offended, think but this and all is mended:<p>

That you have but slumbered here, while these visions did appear, and this weak and idle theme no more yielding but a dream.

Gentles, do not reprehend. If you pardon, we will mend.

And as I am an honest Puck, if we have unearned luck, now to 'scape the serpent's tongue we shall make amends ere long.

Else the Puck a liar call.

So good night unto you all. Give me your hands if we be friends.

And Robin shall restore amends.

(William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream, Puck's Soliloquy)

Disclaimer: Metamotivation owns no part of the South Park franchise.


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